It’s a Practice, They Say
We’re never as good as we’d like to be.
All this time here, and I am still
reminding myself to be kind,
not to criticize
no matter the digression,
to stay awake to what is happening now.
Life is a practice.
Today I’m practicing
for my diploma in birdsong.
When I step out into the sunshine,
a black lizard comes to greet me.
He runs right up to me like
he’s been invited into the house.
Been there, done that,
and I don’t have time for extrication.
I close the door behind me
and speak to him softly.
He proudly demonstrates how many
push-ups he can do.
Later, the sweetness of this day—
a doe and two newborn fawns,
only a foot or so tall,
bound over the grass
in front of my window.
Maybe the beauty is in falling short,
but at each opportunity responding
a little more from that hiding place
where our true heart abides.
The Blues
I want a word for that melancholy
feeling, less a fear than
a recognition I’d like to ignore.
The one that blindsides me
when I realize, odds are,
more of the people I love
will exit the planet before I do.
In this impermanent world,
I need a word to explain
these dress rehearsals for grieving,
at least one word to convey
the sorrow that, out of nowhere,
catapults across my heart
when I think about being left alone.
The always-in-our-face dichotomy—
to care for someone so much,
then possibly need to let them go.
If there’s a word,
I haven’t found it yet—
mournful, sad, nothing comes close.
So, if you discover a word
that exists in any language,
please let me know.
Maybe if I had a name
for these blues,
they would be easier to bear.
Accepting Love y Fear
Our emotional lives are tugs-of-war
between love and fear.
We mostly fear that what we love
will be taken from us;
for better or worse, this duo
is a married pair.
So, how do I learn to rest
in the cupped, open hand
of one and not resist
the tightly closed fist of the other?
Perhaps fear and love
are but flipsides of our existence.
Hello love, hello fear, help me
consent to the perpetual tumble
of your ebb and flow, follow shards
of broken shells left behind to guide me,
allow for your presence
the way the ocean allows itself
to be pushed by the moon’s
elemental pull to the shore.
«LECTURA RELACIONADA» POEMS BY LUIS CUAUHTEMOC BERRIOZIBAL: A Moment in Time, This Is, Eternal Sleep»
imagen: jwdenson
