The News by Emilie Lygren

Each morning we listen for what is breaking—

the sound of a thousand tragedies fills the air,

shattering that never stops,

headlines, a fleet of anchors tangled at our feet.

We watch, worried

if we turn away even for an instant,

it will all crumble the rest of the way.

Forget with me for a moment.

Take an unguarded breath.

Do it now, the world needs your attention here, too,

on the rise and fall of your shoulders,

the rustle of leaves outside the window,

the warm space between your gaze and mine.

The News

I discovered Emilie Lygren through the poet James Crews who shared this beauty on one of his weekly posts. So now, I want to share this with you, perhaps more relevant these days than ever given the news of late.

Breaking news is an expression we are familiar with as the media brings us the latest from around the world – the sound of a thousand tragedies fills the air gives the verb breaking a more visceral meaning, a shattering that never stops. And it doesn’t, does it, so much tragedy we are helpless to stop. We watch and listen, fearing that if we turn away even for an instant, the shattering will be complete, our worry the only thing that keeps it from happening. So we stayed glued to the screen trying to comprehend.

Forget with me for a moment – what a startling invitation, to turn away and take an unguarded breath. What a challenge, to breath without defending ourselves from the awfulness around us. But this is necessary she tells us, the world needs your attention here, too. We must turn our attention to the warm space between your gaze and mine, the warm space that reminds us there is also kindness in this world, not just the horror.

This poem is reminding me to keep my heart open to the wonders of life even while I keep one eye on the news. I know which way I want to keep my focus, no matter how often I am distracted. Let us keep looking toward one another.

Smoke Signals by William Stafford

There are people on a parallel way. We do not
see them often, or even think of them often,
but it is precious to us that they are sharing
the world. Something about how they have accepted
their lives, or how the sunlight happens to them,
helps us to hold the strange, enigmatic days
in line for our own living. It is important
that these people know this recognition, but
it is also important that no purpose or obligation
related to this be intruded into their lives.

This book intends to be for anyone, but especially
for those on that parallel way: here is a smoke
signal, unmistakable but unobtrusive—we are
following what comes, going through the world,
knowing each other, building our little fires.

Smoke Signals

William Stafford wrote this poem as part of an introduction to his poetry collection A Glass Face in the Rain (thank you Faith), hence the reference to ‘this book’. This image is one that I align with, that we are sharing the world with people on a parallel way. People we may not see or think of often, even, I would suggest, may not know. Yet they are there, living their own lives as we do ours, invisibly connected.

He is suggesting that how others accept their lives, or how the sunlight happens to them, helps us with our own living, those strange, enigmatic days. He tells us it is important that we each know this about one another and yet, this recognition must not carry the weight of obligation or intrusion into their lives. This way of being is a smoke signal, unmistakable but unobtrusive, a way of speaking to one another, building our little fires.

I see these virtual smoke signals often in the people around me and appreciate them for how they anchor me in my own life. And I love the idea of us each with our own small fires of life, the smoke rising up and reaching out to one another. This is my smoke signal to you as we share this precious world.

The Word by Tony Hoagland

Down near the bottom
of the crossed-out list
of things you have to do today,

between “green thread”
and “broccoli,” you find
that you have penciled “sunlight.”

Resting on the page, the word
is beautiful. It touches you
as if you had a friend

and sunlight were a present
he had sent from someplace distant
as this morning—to cheer you up,

and to remind you that,
among your duties, pleasure
is a thing

that also needs accomplishing.
Do you remember?
that time and light are kinds

of love, and love
is no less practical
than a coffee grinder

or a safe spare tire?
Tomorrow you may be utterly
without a clue,

but today you get a telegram
from the heart in exile,
proclaiming that the kingdom

still exists,
the king and queen alive,
still speaking to their children,

—to any one among them
who can find the time
to sit out in the sun and listen.

The Word

I suspect we all have a to-do list, even if only in our minds, so I love the idea that you find / that you have penciled “sunlight”, between “green thread” and “broccoli”, such a whimsical pairing. This beautiful word, sunlight, resting on the page, touching you as if you had a friend / and sunlight were a present, sent from a distant place, reminding you that not only duties, but pleasure / is a thing / that also needs accomplishing. I love how Hoagland uses sunlight to remind us that pleasure is as important as duty; how easily we can forget; how easily we can be reminded.

He asks us to remember that love / is no less practical / than a coffee grinder / or a safe spare tire. Right up there with broccoli and green thread. So today you get a telegram / from the heart in exile saying that the fairy tale king and queen are alive in their kingdom, with their children, that love exists if only we can find the time / to sit out in the sun and listen. Surely we can find the time, make the time, to pay attention to sunlight, to pleasure, to time and light and love.

What’s on your to-do list for today? I hope you will add the word sunlight, which can show you the way to pleasure with all its attendant elements of love. Even when the sun isn’t shining, it’s still there.

Safety Net by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

This morning I woke
thinking of all the people I love
and all the people they love
and how big the net
of lovers. It felt so clear,
all those invisible ties
interwoven like silken threads
strong enough to make a mesh
that for thousands of years
has been woven and rewoven
to catch us all.
Sometimes we go on
as if we forget
about it. Believing only
in the fall. But the net
is just as real. Every day,
with every small kindness,
with every generous act,
we strengthen it. Notice,
even now, how
as the whole world
seems to be falling, it
is there for us as we
walk the day’s tightrope,
how every tie matters.

Safety Net

When I first read this poem, I was reminded of something my then-4-year-old son said one night before drifting off to sleep, that he imagined all the people in the world were as if at the cross-points on a spider’s web, that we are all somehow connected. Rather a profound thought for such a young mind but you know what they say about the mouths of babes. In this poem, Trommer offers a similar notion but takes it a step further, that this is a wide net of all the people I love / and all the people they love, ready to catch us all.

She is thinking how big the net / of lovers, all those unseen connections, interwoven like silken threads, creating a mesh woven and rewoven / to catch us all. She tells us we sometimes forget about this net, believing only / in the fall when in fact with every small kindness, / with every generous act, / we strengthen it. She is asking us to notice how even as the whole world / seems to be falling (and there are many days it feels this way), that this net is there for us as we / walk the day’s tightrope. That’s what kindness can do, what a safety net is for, is it not? Ready to catch us if we fall, to hold us in its unseen mesh.

The last line says it all for me, how every tie matters, how it is our interdependence and connection that saves us daily. We are each, as my son told me, a critical point on this invisible web, the whole incomplete without each of us taking our place with love and kindness.