It comes and goes, disasters on the news,
wearing old clothes for comfort,
a shirt the color of the sky, blue as that,
and a hat to protect me from the sky,
and the routines of it, the bearing up stuff,
you know what I mean, I am sure you do,
and later how the crows are gathering in a single tree
and the sky is the color of sorrow again.
No stars. A cloudy night. An old world
and the people on it trying to break free a single
act at a time. “Halleluiah,” I hear from
the church up the road but I am a Buddhist
and all I know to do is pray deep. “May all
people be safe, healthy, happy, balanced.”
All acts count, one by one. The giant roses
on my kitchen counter are from Gordon’s
garden, blooming so big and wild, opening up
to show the world what they’ve got going.
Gordon died last month but the garden is
still there. Chasing what’s gone is what
this is about. A delight of the elderly. The daily
ardor and yes, I know there should be more order
to all this but loss doesn’t have any. It comes
like an unexpected thing. In the middle of the
night or a wedding. Any place where the tiniest
petals break open, where there is a readying for
a harvest, preparations of any kind for
sustainable life. I myself plan to fill out job applications,
and I am thinking about planting a garden of tomatoes
and sunflowers, it is still possible to do and a haiku
at the end. Seventeen syllables. “A thousand joys,
a thousand sorrows, I am grateful to still be here.”
Author Bio:
Charlene Langfur is a southern Californian, an organic gardener, a Syracuse University Graduate Writing Fellow and her writing has appeared in many magazines and reviews, and most recently in a series of poems in both POETRY EAST and WEBER-THE CONTEMPORARY WEST.
wearing old clothes for comfort,
a shirt the color of the sky, blue as that,
and a hat to protect me from the sky,
and the routines of it, the bearing up stuff,
you know what I mean, I am sure you do,
and later how the crows are gathering in a single tree
and the sky is the color of sorrow again.
No stars. A cloudy night. An old world
and the people on it trying to break free a single
act at a time. “Halleluiah,” I hear from
the church up the road but I am a Buddhist
and all I know to do is pray deep. “May all
people be safe, healthy, happy, balanced.”
All acts count, one by one. The giant roses
on my kitchen counter are from Gordon’s
garden, blooming so big and wild, opening up
to show the world what they’ve got going.
Gordon died last month but the garden is
still there. Chasing what’s gone is what
this is about. A delight of the elderly. The daily
ardor and yes, I know there should be more order
to all this but loss doesn’t have any. It comes
like an unexpected thing. In the middle of the
night or a wedding. Any place where the tiniest
petals break open, where there is a readying for
a harvest, preparations of any kind for
sustainable life. I myself plan to fill out job applications,
and I am thinking about planting a garden of tomatoes
and sunflowers, it is still possible to do and a haiku
at the end. Seventeen syllables. “A thousand joys,
a thousand sorrows, I am grateful to still be here.”
Author Bio:
Charlene Langfur is a southern Californian, an organic gardener, a Syracuse University Graduate Writing Fellow and her writing has appeared in many magazines and reviews, and most recently in a series of poems in both POETRY EAST and WEBER-THE CONTEMPORARY WEST.
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