Category Archives: Poetry

Our Smallness, and the Greatness of Our Love

It’s Saturday. Here’s a beautiful poem by Wendell Berry: On summer evenings we sat in the yard, the house dark, the stars bright overhead. The laps and arms of the old held the young. As we talked we knew by … Continue reading

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Turning Toward A Brightness

I have seen the sun break through to illuminate a small field for a while, and gone my way and forgotten it. But that was the pearl of great price, the one field that had treasure in it. I realize … Continue reading

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The Rain and The Light

And now it has been two years. One night I dreamed that I was standing on a grassy hilltop with her and one of my girlfriends, our silhouettes framed against a wide blank sky. She looked more as she did … Continue reading

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Let my history then be a gate unfastened to a new life and not a barrier to my becoming.                                   (from the poem “Yorkshire” … Continue reading

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What If

What if the mightiest word is love? Love beyond marital, filial, national, love that casts a widening pool of light, love with no need to pre-empt grievance. In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air, any thing can be made, any … Continue reading

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May Morning, Oxford

At the start, it was like stepping out into a poem. The air was cold and the morning sky still dark as ink above the rooftops and chimneys, with a fading white sliver of moon. My daughter and her husband waited for us … Continue reading

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Journey by Train

Yet landscapes flow like this toward a place, A point in time and memory’s own face. So when the clamor stops, we really climb Down to the earth, closing the curve of time, Meeting those we have left, to those … Continue reading

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To Somehow Find Our Way

Tomorrow will mark a year since my mother’s death. I am absolutely a different person now than I was a year ago and that’s all I want to say about that, which is probably a relief to readers of this … Continue reading

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A Girl With A Suitcase

I’m fond of these little girls, watched from a distance as they pretend, conspire, and tell each other secrets. They come as they are, or however they feel like being. An outfit built around a frilly mesh skirt with pink tights serves just as … Continue reading

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Words

If I’d listened to my handler, I’d be in New York right now, and that would have been wonderful, but heavy-heartedness creates its own kind of lethargy, and I just couldn’t muster up the gusto. A trip like that would have required … Continue reading

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