Today, once more,
a couple steps
to round up and evict
the voices of complaint
Outside a fine mist
has muted the sky
but not the ruling green
which flourishes
everywhere it’s been allowed
And inside, laundry
is not as massive as it was,
and though the same blocks
hulk up against my progress,
I have some newer tools.
There’s a way to trickle forward
and there’s room, right here,
for praise.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 13, 2017
After a while
we started to think we wanted
that one bright slice of day
we couldn’t have
We began to tire
of building our time around it
though it was quite reasonable —
Who, after all, is free
of all obligations?
And even if we were free,
the same discontent
that dogs us now
would nibble around our edges
in some other way
and try to take
this same kind of chomp
out of our satisfaction.
So no. Regroup and reconsider.
The victory, the release,
will not be from demanded time,
but from the sense of deprivation.
We can always have enough.
We are always given
just what we need.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 10, 2017
It’s not too late
to feel blessed,
though eyes be turned toward sleep,
though goals be given up on,
though consciousness
has wandered off
into various fields
where grasses
are going to seed
and small flowers
hold court with many
peculiar bugs
It’s not too late to be blessed —
look — you’re there already
in the sweet breath of summer night,
in the dream welcoming call
of warm blankets and chilly wind.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 7, 2017
Midnight threatens
to overcome the day —
I can keep working
up to its threshold
but it will be tomorrow then
and what I accomplish
will no longer add to
today’s to dos’ ta-dahs
No matter. My life cares little
about calendars these days.
I have to think hard sometimes
about what day it is.
Just me and the rhythms
of someone who’s left time behind
and the progress that scribbles
bright and rushing
outside all the lines.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 4, 2017
The box labeled
parental sentimentalities
is small
and the things in it
were not carefully vetted
They were just what got caught
at moments when the momentum
of moving on
flagged a little
and these were dropped like sediment
from the slower flow
Or when a stick snags something
near the river’s bank
and other things, arrested, gather behind it
Somehow I couldn’t throw out
the paper cut out figure smiling benignly,
curling at the edges
or the fimo depiction
of a sink with snow in it
Many years hence
I may look at them again.
For now, this box is ark
among the flags.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 21, 2017
The lush green
from so many weeks of rain
pushes at the windows,
invites a quiet escape
from the room of classical music
and the old man dozing and rocking
and too much heat
To where everything is too long
for the well-groomed yard,
too wild for easy tending,
and birds and engines vie for prominence
in the suburban soundscape
and I haven’t really escaped anything
by stepping outside.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 18, 2017
My father-in-law says to the empty room
(his hand gesticulating)
“That’s the place where all the people
yesterday and before came,
they were dancing,
they started a dance there”
While the clear tones of Appalachian Spring
soar from the radio
and I did just dance
here in the next room
because I couldn’t help it
Outside, blossom petals
carpet the streets with grace,
not caring if it’s sun or rain
It feels like it’s been
a long and tenuous time
but here I am,
where I belong,
hoping to take with me
next time I go
something like the memory of birds wheeling
to help me find my way back.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 26, 2017
Whatever happened to us? you said —
sorrow and distance
but sweet close holding
The rain that has driven the day
masked the breath of spring
which was coming in anyway
though we didn’t know
And later the same strong wind
blew white clouds through blue sky
and your hand was warm
walking to the library
The old man walks out of the bathroom
carrying the rug. I don’t need this, he says,
I have my own pants.
The day has had some rough parts
but I will put him to bed.
We’ll have another go
in the morning.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 29, 2017
Be thankful for the day —
it is enough
to tuck the old man in,
to see the comfort
of soft sheets around his chin
It is enough
to have accomplished
the simple tasks
and to have felt the soft burn
of inner fire, curling
at the base of being,
connecting us to eternity
and the truth no lies can cover
and the clear direction that it gives,
untouched by any turbulence of time,
bearing us silently
into our role
as keepers of the stars.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 9, 2017
It’s been a tough day —
large bungle spill
of ill-advised emotions
who rushed out blind,
not even slowing down
in their blustering forays
to hear the voice of their mom
who, had they listened,
would have counseled
that playing on this ground
always results in getting doused
in whatever slop you try to throw.
She could have guided them
to more productive fields,
but no, they had to go
and try to conquer
in all the places
where they had to fail.
No matter. Tonight
she will tuck them in.
They will sleep. Tomorrow
she will try again
to help them get up in the sun.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 4, 2017