Words

 

My granddog, Chloe. R.I.P.
I am feeling like her this morning.

I'm looking for a new vocabulary, words
that newly express what my eyes are
now too old to see: this world so full
of pain, and wonder, of war, and the love
that sends humans into danger to rescue others.

I need a language that does not contain
words for nuclear war, or chemical or
biological weapons. Maybe what I am
seeking is another planet, or this one,
back one thousand years, when people
still knew how to live upon the land,
recognized that earth feeds us,
helps us breathe, that when we take,
we must put back.

My heart is full of paradox: the horror
of the nightly news, springtime with its
opening blossoms, a daughter's anger,
my own mortality, and a need to find
what hope and peace I can
while I'm still here. My heart
understands the mix. 

Suddenly I'm noticing everything:
as if it is a film unfolding before me,
and I do not know the end, only
that it is drawing nearer, so I must
treasure every cloud and tree and bird,
every dog, every kind word, and
protect my tender, devastated heart
that shrivels under the pain
we humans inflict upon each other,
in all of our unknowing.

I need new words, to express
what my tired heart is now
too old to be feeling: this world,
so wrought with devastation,
this world, so wrought with joy.

Inspired by "For When People Ask" by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer. The italicized lines are hers.