It was the middle of September when Jessica and I went on our first date, while we were in university. That was twenty-three years ago, and ever since our lives have been woven together in too many ways to count. That’s what this poem is about:
I hear English and Italian
And (I think)
a bit of French
As I’m sitting (one more stranger)
In the airport
On a bench
This assembly
Of the transient
People moving (yet we’re still)
Thrown together
For a moment
With a layover to fill
This collection
Of humanity—
The tired
Sad
Excited
Proves that
Being in proximity
Is not the same at all
As being in community
I’m glad I’m going home
Sometimes my thoughts are
scattered
and I have to
go and gather them—I have to
use my feet and walk I have to
leave my seat and clock and
somewhere in the great
outdoors
in open skies
and grassy floors
I find the threads and pull them in
and now the weaving can begin
and when I go back home again
I understand
A sunbeam
A bird
A smile
A word
A song
So revealing
So filled up
With feeling
A wrinkle
A fear
A sweat bead
A tear
A dance in the kitchen
A laugh in the hall—
A lifetime so big
Made of moments
So small
Hello my name is
Wildflower
Here today and
Gone tomorrow
Bursting glory
In my hour
Then I fade away
With me are ten thousand
Others—each one with
The same bright colours
How will I stand out from these
If I am just the same?
I don’t mind
It’s not my job
My colours are
A gift from God
And if I bloom
For just one day
And if a million
Are the same
And if nobody
Learns my name
I’ll still bloom here—
I still will bring
My little piece of glory
Sing
My song into the story
For my Maker
For my King
At first all I feel is
The stillness and peace—
The silence of grass and
The patience of trees
Then slowly my senses
Begin to attune
To the business of nature
This warm afternoon
The birds chatter on
With their intricate songs
And there must be a meaning
To what I am hearing
While bees move with vigour
From flower to flower
A butterfly, also—
Though his schedule’s lighter
And now I see flies
And some midges float by
And an ant—and the action
Is filling my eyes!
And though it is quiet
Compared to my screens
And though it is peaceful
There’s work for the trees
As they silently grow
And the ivy and gorse
And the grass-eating horse
For the peace of this earth
Isn’t lazy or languid
It’s busy and blessed
And yet somehow,
At rest
I sat down to write a poem about life
The roof is leaking.
I began to think about the happy and
The dryer’s squeaking.
I got up and sat again and thought
Of mysteries
And things I ought
To have done yesterday.
Life is full of joy and
I’d better fold the clothes.
How it goes so fast
Nobody knows.
Again, it’s full of joy and
Interruption
Moments of construction
Of this messy
Happy gift of
What was I saying?
Oh yes the gift I love—
Life
If there was ever a doubt that God can take the evil of this world and turn it into good greater than we can imagine, that doubt was laid to rest when Jesus walked out of the tomb where he had been laid to rest. Humanity killed him for spite, and he died willingly—and rose again to save us. Now he promises that the troubles of his children who trust and follow him will also “work together for good” (Romans 8:28)—but of course that’s not how it feels in the moment when we face the unthinkable.
Unthinkable
Sometimes God allows
The unthinkable
Unbelievable
Thing
To happen
They tell me
Perspicuity
Means “clarity”
But if that’s so
What’s the
Proposed utility
Of saying it this way?
Perhaps the pride of
Sounding smart
By using Latin
Works of art
To prove to
Educated classes
You’re above the
Unwashed masses
Who insist on using
Simple language
(Such as “clear”)
Where gilded words
Perspicuous
Could raise themselves
Conspicuous
Above the tired landscape
Of all clear
Communication
I put my hands inside my sleeves
And stuff them in my pockets
My collar up against the wind
Is not enough to block it
But as my nose and ears complain
Of slowly freezing
In my brain
My thoughts are getting warmer
And more active with each step
This wind has fanned the flame—
Yes even frozen wind—and swept
My thoughts into a blaze
And I’m aware that if I kept
My body locked
Behind the glaze
In perfect comfort
All my days
That there my mind
Would rest in ease—
And in that warmth
Would slowly
Freeze
sethlewis.ie 