Poetry by Ginnie Gavrin
At Death
I will be
unwound
from all my failures
Turned into a filament
of light
My fear of distractedness
dispersed
to mingle
with the sounds of traffic
in some city
where I have never
been
The memory
of the day
I stood staring
too long
at the grocery shelves
So long
my son
wandered
away from me
That sin
will be absorbed
into rain
a spattering
against a stranger’s windshield
My frantic search
His tears
A lifetime of absolution
refined
to nothing
Even the weeks
I was sure
there was still time
for one more visit
before
my father died
Or the hour my mother
whispered
her last word
into empty
dark air
The day I gauged
that skid wrong
and slid blind
into whirling snow.
Spit of rage
at my own
fragility
Spun off
like the float
of milkweed.
Benign soft wind
bearing
the mercy
we all long for
Forgiveness
rendered mute
losing
its necessity
All density
released
from its meaning
Even my name
will be set loose
Two silent syllables.
Vespers: Evening
...dusk or twilight is considered to be a ‘thin place’ where the veil between heaven and earth is lifted
––Christine Valters Paintner
Sunlight loses heat
lavender chill
at the horizon
Branches tangle
in the dimming gold.
Feverish. The thin place
where nourishment
gathers as we slice
hard carrots on the wooden
board. Onions sting
the eyes. Herbs
loosen their fragrance
beneath the knife.
The stew a murk
Water
becoming air
steam rising above
the ring of blue flame.
Each step lifts
the veil between
hunger and quelling
where appetite receives
its antidote
forecast in fragrance
the plate on the table
as the candle
comes to life
and the windows lose
the sky
succumb
to black.
The soup pours
from the ladle
to the bowl, each ingredient
now a blend
The morning’s plans
the afternoon’s labor
recede, turn larger
than the sum
we turn loose as the past.
A release of breath
over the spoon
Sip. Taste.
