Sunday, December 14, 2014

Poetry Sunday

An interesting poem about when things happen ...

Not Yet
by Jane Hirshfield

Morning of buttered toast;
of coffee, sweetened, with milk.

Out the window,
snow-spruces step from their cobwebs.
Flurry of chickadees, feeding then gone.
A single cardinal stipples an empty branch—
one maple leaf lifted back.

I turn my blessings like photographs into the light;
over my shoulder the god of Not-Yet looks on:

Not-yet-dead, not-yet-lost, not-yet-taken.
Not-yet-shattered, not-yet-sectioned,

Ample litany, sparing nothing I hate or love,
not-yet-silenced, not-yet-fractured; not-yet-


I move my ear a little closer to that humming figure,
I ask him only to stay.

We never want bad things to happen, but somehow they do. The best we can hope for is that they happen ... not yet.

Have a good day. More thoughts coming.


1 comment:

eViL pOp TaRt said...

A memento mori, worth thinking about.