Wren’s Nest in a Shed Near Aurora by Kim Stafford

Three tiny eggs in thistledown
cupped in a swirl of grass
in the pocket of the tool belt
I hung on the wall of the shed
when it finally stood complete–
will be three songs
offering local dignity for
my country enthralled by war
in distant lands.
                          Stand back
cautiously, close the door
tenderly, let the future
ripen, grow wings,
and build songs.

Wren’s Nest in a Shed Near Aurora

Kim Stafford is the son of the well known poet William Stafford who wrote every morning before dawn from the 1950s until his death in 1993, a practice that produced many memorable poems. His son has adopted this daily practice, going from an occasional writer to a more active one. This is the first example of his work to come to my attention and now to share with you.

Such a tender picture: Three tiny eggs in thistledown – so delicate and vulnerable yet nestled in the pocket of the tool belt, a sturdy protection. Stafford then moves us forward in time to when these tiny eggs will have hatched into wrens with their birdsong offering local dignity for / my country enthralled by war / in distant lands. What an astonishing leap, from a simple shed to war in distant lands – it gave me pause.

Then the poet invites us to gently leave these eggs in the shelter of the shed and let the future / ripen, grow wings, / and build songs. The future will come of course and with his imagination, there will be bird wings to fly and songs to carry on the air. There is an optimism in this scene of birth and music and flight that counterbalances the grim vision of war. Both will continue to exist and we must never forget the former.

Of Prayer Now by Andrea Potos

After cocooning
myself in my comforter
before sleep comes,
I lay with eyes open
in the dark. One by one
I conjure them all,
finding again
their magnanimous, smiling faces—
my queue of beloveds,
returned. This
is the way of prayer now—
to remember Love in all
its past and present forms.

Of Prayer Now

This small poem caught my attention in its simple evocation of my queue of beloveds, those family and friends who have died in body but remain with me in spirit. Potos describes perfectly for me how the comforting dark is a place to conjure them all, remembering their magnanimous, smiling faces. I really do see each face, perhaps have a word or two (today is your birthday!) and draw them close for the moment.

Whether you want to call this prayer or not, this remembering is a way of calling on the people we have loved who continue to be in our hearts. Naming each dear soul, I invite them into my world to say I do not, cannot, forget you. Potos says this is how we remember Love in all / its past and present forms. Because love remains when the body does not, present and past, still a part of who we each are.

Love as prayer, prayer as love. Whose smiling faces are you remembering?

The Cure for It All by Julia Fehrenbacher

Go gently today, don’t hurry
or think about the next thing. Walk
with the quiet trees, can you believe
how brave they are—how kind? Model your life
after theirs. Blow kisses
at yourself in the mirror

especially when
you think you’ve messed up. Forgive
yourself for not meeting your unreasonable
expectations. You are human, not
God—don’t be so arrogant.

Praise fresh air
clean water, good dogs. Spin
something from joy. Open
a window, even if
it’s cold outside. Sit. Close
your eyes. Breathe. Allow

the river
of it all to pulse
through eyelashes
fingertips, bare toes. Breathe in
breathe out. Breathe until

you feel
your bigness, until the sun
rises in your veins. Breathe
until you stop needing
anything
to be different.

The Cure for It All

How could I resist the offer of a cure for it all, even without knowing exactly what that ‘all’ is? And it will be different for each of us as we come to this poem, and different depending upon the moment. Yet Fehrenbacher’s advice, if you will, is uncomplicated, invitational. She starts with an unhurried walking with trees, can you believe / how brave they are – how kind? We could do worse than to model ourselves after the sturdy, patient trees that give us so much breath and beauty.

She asks us to Forgive / yourself for not meeting your unreasonable / expectations. Do you ever expect more of yourself than is reasonable? (rhetorical question) There are so many things we can praise that we take for granted daily. Spin / something from joy, anything really. Breathe, allowing the river / of it all to pulse / through eyelashes / fingertips, bare toes. Be still, pay attention in that way we seldom allow ourselves as we think about the next thing to do.

Finally, she invites us to Breathe / until you feel / your bigness, your oneness with it all. Most of all, Breathe / until you stop needing / anything / to be different. Because when we stop wanting things to be other than what they are in the moment, we can rest and be just as we are. There is no greater cure.

The Occupation by Robert Bringhurst

I will tell you how it was the world

changed, she said — and darkness

wrapped us round.

I heard her clearly, though I barely

heard the words. It was nearly — yes —

as if she were singing.

Our job, she was saying, is not

to change the world — nor even

to keep it from changing.

No, she was saying (the story

was over already): our only

job is being changed.

The Occupation

This is one of those short, seemingly simple poems that says a lot. How the world has changed, and darkness / wrapped us round. These days are feeling rather dark, the sunshine notwithstanding – so many unknowns, so much confusion, fear and grief. So it is not unreasonable to say we are wrapped in darkness. And yet…

The poet says he heard her, though I barely / heard the words, heard her as if she were singing. The message comes through the music, saying we are not meant to change the world, nor even / to keep it from changing. I think especially we are not meant to keep the world from changing though one could certainly argue that there are aspects that demand our attention and action, most obviously being the desecration of our planet.

Nevertheless, the speaker/singer is telling us that our only / job is being changed; this is our deep work. I’m not sure what being changed means for me, certainly not for you. But there is something about that assertion that that I find oddly comforting, allowing myself to be changed, to grow with whatever is happening around me. This is how the world changes, one heart at a time.

What Happiness Looks Like by Marge Piercy

Some things are ordinary but perfect:
drinking coffee on summer mornings
with you as the cats laze about, fed,
on you or on me or curled together
in the bay window on a sunny pillow.
Outside the weeping beech stirs
in the wind, leaves hanging down
like just washed long tresses.
We talk softly of the pending day.
This is all I would need of heaven
that I don’t believe in, but this
I believe.

from On the Way Out, Turn Off the Light

I’m always interested in what happiness looks like, the authentic kind, so this brief poem caught my attention. I especially like the opening line: Some things are ordinary but perfect. Think about that; is it not so true? The ordinariness of drinking coffee on summer mornings, even if your choice is tea or something else, that first sip can be perfect. The image of cats curled together / in the bay window on a sunny pillow is such an iconic one, you don’t need your own cats, just your your imagination.

The imagery of the weeping birch, leaves hanging down / like just washed long tresses is also memorable, also ordinary and perfect. If you don’t have any weeping birch in view, surely there are other graceful leaves to soothe your sight. The poet and her unseen partner talk softly of the pending day, those ordinary, simple conversations that may occur at any time of the day, especially with ourselves.

The final line captures the essence of this morning, something any one of us might say: This is all I would need of heaven / that I don’t believe in and then she turns it into the coup-de-grâce, but this / I believe. Yes, this ordinary happiness I, too, can believe in, simple but perfect.