Tag Archives: death

Huh

Posted on by
Reply

Turns out, it seems,
I’m not afraid of death.

It is a subtle thing,
the lack of terror — no struggling up
of something held at bay,
no frantic pushing back
against the upflow,
no fear-frayed patches present in my prayer

A thing to only notice in thunderstorms
(bike tires plowing through the water,
lightening flashing, touching down ahead)
or in an airplane, when they talk about the life vests,
or other times I haven’t yet observed

Not that I have a death wish, either —
I’d rather have my life be affirmation
that Life is here, and kind,
I’d rather be here for the folks that count on me
but being unafraid —
that’s something I don’t mind.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 26, 2019

The Choir of Heaven

Posted on by
Reply

To bring in range the choir of heaven
consider what it means
that there be no more death —
not now or ever — that the whole veil
be drawn away, and we perceive that
no one, and nothing, has ever died

If there has been no loss
of loved ones, or of wisdom,
or of life experience,
of ancient ways of knowing,
of lessons dearly learned,
of birds and animals,
of fish, of trees,
of anyone who loved them

That whole choir of ancestors
and children, and newly resurrected hope
would fill the realm of home,
would fill infinity —
Yes, I will be there, too
and yes, I too will sing.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 5, 2019

Claws

Posted on by
Reply

I stepped outside of privilege to recognize
death drags its claws through every family
with no regard for neatly supping
at one edge

Indeed, there never is a smooth progression —
life sends us scrambling up and down the crags,
wandering the canyons,
sometimes scaling mountains,
sometimes finding dark reclusive caves

And look, we are not shredded —
the cohesion of our lives
just pulls us closer,
re-knits our fabric,
fills the former holes with light

Though we be touched by death,
we are not conquered,
and so we learn a little more of life.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 18, 2019

Harvest Now

Posted on by
Reply

Lest I be overwhelmed
by edges, the places beyond which
I cannot know

Lest I toss my anchor
into shrouded future
and be pulled on and down
into its undertow

Let me stay firm,
focused on here and now,
let me find the depth
of what I do understand —
what I experience,
what I can harvest
as surely in this winter
as many seasons later.

©Wendy Mulhern
January 15, 2019

Each other from afar

Posted on by
Reply

No need to stand on pretense
for we both have sat
in the shadow of death,
we have both been changed

And whatever we professed
before that
is irrelevant —
we are in a different place

Our eyes now —
they don’t avert as quickly,
we take the deep time
to let things soak in,
to let the colors darken
in the wetness,
the saturation gather at the edge

No need to hold each other
to what we said and thought
in former times. Those times are gone.
We have today.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 26, 2018

Progress Report

Posted on by
2

Baby steps toward healing —
being able to talk about it,
recognizing there was nothing
we could have changed,
given what we understood then,
given what we knew

Nothing that, had we done differently,
could have brought a different outcome.
Nothing short of
the salvation of the whole world
could make a difference

So there it is —
what could have helped us then
can help us even now.
We turn around and face the place
where dawn will come.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 28, 2018

Bright Release

Posted on by
1

What will you do with this?

Mothers — take it, use it to love your children
even more than you have before,
Fathers, use it as a way
to deepen grace, to find your footing
in the place where your nobility
touches ground

Brothers, sisters, friends —
use this to remember
how tender and how tensile
is your connection to each other,
how paramount it is
to keep these ties
awake in your heart

All of you — take this bright gift,
this strong release of light,
this nourishment of life —
use it to celebrate
our common source
and the fountain of our days.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 2, 2018

Transparent

Posted on by
2

Well, I’m more transparent now,
it seems. Like I’ve part way come with you
into the place where these weights
just fall through me. And the constraints
of time and space and body
don’t apply, at least as much

This state of me
is something I observe, and ponder,
and curiously feel what it’s like
to be (at least somewhat)
unbound by physics,
to be caught up in different motivation,
to move like light through my day.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 18, 2018

Memorial

Posted on by
1

We will draw you in
to the circle of laughter,
we will draw this robe of memory
around you. We will draw
a picture of your life,
we will draw compassionate conclusions

In this act of celebrating you
we celebrate our own humanity.
We celebrate the unseen ties
that hold us up, and hold us, thus, together

We have done well
for we have reaped the opportunity
to lift your life
so golden rays of sun
would shine on it
and light us all.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 30, 2017

Weight

Posted on by
Reply

It was a light task
picking up the ashes
though they are heavier
than they look like they’d be

It’s not so surprising, however,
that a lifetime of stories
would be ponderous
and besides

There are roots that go down
that must be still connected
where we can’t see them
that would also render
a package like this
hard to lift.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 14, 2017