Ignore the Memos
The one that tells you: it’s too late,
the deadline is passed
it’s done
The one that tells you: it’ll never work,
not possible
no way
The one that tells you: you’re dried up,
finished
kaput
The one that tells you: don’t bother,
fait accompli,
game over.
Well-intentioned memos
sent by well-intentioned folk, allegedly.
Just being “realistic,”
these sensible ones,
looking out for your own good.
Oh, and sometimes theirs.
Ignore them all.
Witness, instead,
the long shot,
the underdog,
the come-from-behind victory;
attend to
unheralded self-healing,
spontaneous remission,
the cure of what was deemed incurable;
stop and stare at
the improbable late-summer rugosa,
one single rose blossoming
amongst wizened fruit.
See all of these with your own eyes, then
cast aside the memos,
bathe in the impossible,
and believe
Unheralded self healing isn’t even the new thing; it’s the only thing.
Thank you, Mary, for your gifts. 💚
Such an important message, Mary, delivered from the spaciousness of you.
In a relationship in my past, we had a Friday nite routine of taking turns writing and listening to spontaneous poems. We filled books doing this. I was always amazed at what wanted expression, if given the space and permission. This poem reminds me of that.
floating in the ether
palpable in silence
captured on a sun beam
or the rustling of the leaves
carried in the water
held in the earth beneath our feet
who listens to its message?
is present to the unseen
cuts through the mire
& all the dread and the gloom
layered over our world
obscuring what is true?
oh, listen there.
💕