One of the lessons I learned as a child has stuck with me through the years. My father taught me that once you say something, once you do something – it cannot be unsaid or undone. Words matter. Actions matter. What we say and what we do defines who we are. Sadly, it seems, that was not a lesson taught to everyone and today, hurling insults, acting, not only unkindly but in some instances as in the case of ICE, brutally – seems to be more the rule than the execption.
I believe, I must believe, that we are better than that; that we, human beings, have not only a need but, a desire, for community, commitment, connection, kindness. I believe that our negative actions, negative words, are a reflection of the pressures we are living under, the intimidation we are experiencing and, worst of all, the lies we are being fed by those who would “rule the world.”
I also believe that we are all diminished by unkindness. To demean another, hurl insults at another, treat another as though their life was less important, their well-being inconsequential, is to dehumanize us all. We share this one home, planet Earth, with one another – the very least we can do – the very best we can do – is to, in spite of the challenges, discover the kindness within – and let it out…
THE UNWOUNDING
(Dreaming Missouri, Austin Macauley Publishers, 2022)
Passion is an arrow that leaves
the quiver in a hush
of sound tests itself
against the bow released it rapes
the air of innocence in bloodless flight
takes the flesh with steel ends
its thrust in bone
The heart is innocent of subterfuge subtle
secrets and deceit it’s not unlike a flower welcoming
the rain or warming to the sun it does not question
gifts that come unasked for cannot separate a lie
from that which calls itself the truth
but youth that argues for the prize of passion
had best observe the flower as it fades summer’s
gaudy colors turn to bitter brown break
against the wind scattering to decay the heart
that would survive the seasons like the flower
needs the sustenance of soil the comfort
of that passionless embrace in which to store
its seeds beyond the reach
of winter’s kill
The heart is neither stone nor flower
it beats a time then for all eternity is still
in the breathless flight of that brief hour would
do well to know one cannot unwound the flesh
unless the arrow
never leaves the bow…
