At The Center \ The Old Woman Says "Then!"

Alan: Sometimes, all one can do is witness...

At The Center

Night of no moon, thick clouds,

and so much rain!

Dark as a bear’s den.  Dawn

shambles out at last, pauses, and sits

heavily, as if to say, “no farther.”

November.

You move to the sofa, trying to find

sleep and the easing of pain.

Songs of Kuan Yin on the iPod,

gentle breathing from a higher realm:

in the kitchen, where I tidy the dishes,

almost subliminal between sudden

paroxysms of rain hammering the roof,

wind chimes all clanging at once,

leaves smacking the windows:

so many musics vibrating together

and at their center,

surrounded by so much

caring surrounded by so much uncaring,

so much pain.

Nancy: Have you ever preferred your Then to your Now?

The Old Woman Says "Then!"

Last week the northeaster blew

color out of the saltmarsh and left

bladder wrack on the lane.  Today

the snow whitens the garden and

leaves the late flowers drained.

The old woman says "no, not yet,

too soon."     She will not say "Now."

She growls.  Bearlike, the old woman

snuffles her way.  She sweeps away snow

with her paws.  She rolls away stones.

She feels criss cross with the world.

"No, not yet, too soon.  No, not yet,

too soon."

The poor old woman goes this way

and that, this way and that   .   .   .

growling,

searching for the path to Then.