Poetry Sunday

From my childhood I recall the Catholic Ash Wednesday ritual in which the priest makes the sign of the cross on your forehead while intoning, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return." This poem by Danusha Laméris thinks about the ubiquity and permanence of dust.

Dust

by Danusha Laméris

It covers everything, fine powder,

the earth’s gold breath falling softly

on the dark wood dresser, blue ceramic bowls,

picture frames on the wall. It wafts up

from canyons, carried on the wind,

on the wings of birds, in the rough fur of animals

as they rise from the ground. Sometimes it’s copper,

sometimes dark as ink. In great storms,

it even crosses the sea. Once

when my grandmother was a girl,

a strong gale lifted red dust from Africa

and took it thousands of miles away

to the Caribbean where people swept it

from their doorsteps, kept it in small jars,

reminder of that other home.

Gandhi said, “The seeker after truth

should be humbler than the dust.”

Wherever we go, it follows.

I take a damp cloth, swipe the windowsills,

the lamp’s taut shade, run a finger

over the dining room table.

And still, it returns, settling in the gaps

between the floorboards, gilding the edges

of unread books. What could be more loyal,

more lonely, and unsung?

Have a good day and enjoy the rest of your weekend. Put off the dusting until tomorrow.

More thoughts coming.

Bilbo