Saturday, June 21, 2014

June 21, 2014 The Sunday Whirl #166/ The Beauty… of Brokenness/ Poets Pantry #206

The Gorge, Taos, NM
(Image from the Internet)


The Beauty… of Brokenness
The box that holds your ashes
Sits on the black chair by the door
Fingertips caress it as I pass by
Like touching your shoulder
It is unknown what will be done


Should it be here in
My little country garden
That has become a special place
On its’ own
Does what it wants
Will it be a place you like


Or do we go into the mountains
Like the boy and his dog
Derek and Hayes
Later Derek returned with
A plaque he made
“Meet me in the mountains”

Or to the gorge
The only place big enough
To hold a Mother’s love

Since I know not what to do
I will wait for the answer
In the meantime 
I rub gold over the cracks
Of my heart
To find the beauty…
Of brokenness


June 20, 2014



Note:  "Fire, like pain, like love, is a power we do not know. Yet from the ashes of each, something will grow. No one knows if it will be something beautiful and strong. But in our lives it is sometimes the broken vessel, as writer Andre Dubus calls it, that spills the light."
From Terri Windling's beautiful blog.  Myth & Moor: Fire and light  http://windling.typepad.com

"When the Japanese mend broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something's suffered damaged and has a history it becomes more beautiful."  What Mobayad is referring to is the ancient art of Kintsugi. (This is from Myth & Moor:  The Beauty of Brokenness. Tuesday June 17, 2014)






13 comments:

Brian Miller said...

you will know what to do when the time is right...your touching his shoulder by touching the box touched my heart...and you will know...

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Oh so lovely, the beauty of brokenness. I love the idea of the gorge as being the only place big enough to hold the love you had for your beloved son. Love the photo too. I am glad you have the beauty of the desert in which to grieve, Annell. Like Brian, I am touched by your touching the box like touching his shoulder. I too stroke the top of Pup's urn, like patting his head. You will know. For now, maybe he likes sitting in that chair, staying close to you.

Jae Rose said...

And there is great beauty and patience in these words..keep touching his shoulder and one day all of you will know the 'right' place..i love the imagery of rubbing gold into your heart..to help keep it strong and shining..like a box a lot of things and people can be kept in our heart..helps keep them with us perhaps..much love xo

kaykuala said...

How nice to be reminded of those close to one's heart! Nicely annell!

Hank

Magical Mystical Teacher said...

Waiting for the answer is the right thing to do. I still have my father's ashes on a shelf in the garage, six years after his death. I know not what to do with them. Until I do, I will wait.

Dancing and Praying

humbird said...

...and you will know one day, listen....~ Hold your hand, thinking/praying about you, Annell xx

Belva Rae Staples said...

Your words hold such pain and beauty at the same time. These really touched my heart, Annell:

I rub gold over the cracks
Of my heart
To find the beauty…
Of brokenness

Prayers!

flaubert said...

Beautifully touching write, Annell. Is there beauty in brokenness? I think about this a lot.

Hugs to you, my friend,
Pamela ox

ZQ said...

perceptive piece!
ZQ

Old Egg said...

Perhaps you know already in your heart where it will be. Taking us on that journey today in your poem shows the love that exudes from you, the touch in passing, recalling moments in your past and of course being with him forever. A stunning piece of writing.

Cathy said...

Love it because there is such truth in it.

Sumana Roy said...

so deeply touching....loss is like the black hole drawing one in but fond memories are always gold....

rallentanda said...

Sad and lovely.There is a certain comfort in keeping the ashes with you until you decide to let him go. I can only imagine the devastation you must feel . I am so sorry for your loss.

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