There’s a hollow, today, in the place
where I expected to find a poem –
perhaps dug out by yesterday’s torrents,
or the mice that decimated my melons,
or the larger rodent
who did in my brussels sprouts
And though the day has had its good things,
they haven’t, apparently, filled the gap entirely.
Twilight flows into its emptiness
and settles like a pool.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 24, 2020
1.
Some trees will be happy
with what I’ve done,
some may be already dead –
things I do in time, or not in time,
things I don’t do enough, or do too much,
maybe one or two things just right
2.
I started thinking about my dreams,
how even keeled they are,
while full of travel and new places
and old places and the things I’m doing,
and I thought, it’s good to be even keeled,
but why not happy? Why not filled with joy, exultant?
Or why not deeply moved, or touched with haunting music?
3.
The swallows chatter outside, excited about their nest.
We are excited, too, eager to see their new family emerging.
The late sun sifts across the field.
There’s a sock in my lap.
No conclusion.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 31, 2020
Sprouts of possibility
push themselves up
like seedlings where we’ve planted them –
still so small they’re almost imperceptible
but growing sturdier and more apparent
Like with my seeds, I’m not sure if I know
how best to tend them. Like my seeds
I’ll trust they’ll grow
with a power all their own.
I’ll try to keep them warm,
try not to over water,
and let the sun and springtime
bring them home.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 5, 2020
No need to covet repentance –
There’s plenty of room for my knees
here on the ground,
here where the clods and grains of dirt
are moister than I thought,
here in the realm of things
that creep and thrive
in the structure of the soil
No need to covet repentance –
There are more than enough
ways for me to crumble,
leave my former ways of reckoning behind
I, too, can swell and grow,
in awe of what makes me,
in gratitude for every way I’m held
And for the daily
reassessing and revealing
of what interlocks us perfectly,
gives us our purpose
and makes us new.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 16, 2020
This morning it felt like fall —
fog through the valley, lifting into powder blue,
night’s chill and sun’s warmth coexisting,
different smells in dampness and in dry places,
readiness in the air
A flock of goldfinches
were very happy with our sunflowers,
exclaiming and conversing
as they landed, swaying,
on the flower heads
I woke up knowing
the only thing real
is the goodness of everything.
I saw it everywhere,
seeming to rest on things
but actually
being what they are.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 23, 2019
We stand at the brink of August
and consider the color changes —
grass from green to flaxen,
daisy stalks to brown
Sunflowers dominate the garden,
tomatoes coming in,
red tassels forming on the corn,
unknown peppers in dark green
There will be other years
when we can shepherd this,
when we have time and infrastructure
to tend the land —
for now we’ll do the work
to make us ready for it,
so we can read the signs
and understand.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 31, 2019
The heat comes on sudden
and the garden
which yesterday looked lush
looks parched,
and our efforts
which yesterday looked ready to fruit
appear to face a desert
But my boots have filled
with daisy petals and grass seed
from my ministrations to the young trees
and there is a deeper communion
that makes me feel
like a watered garden
that does not fear in times of drought
and I will stay here
in this more verdant place
until the world around me
does the same.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 14, 2019
It may look like I’m weeding
but I’m harvesting — these dandelions
are destined for great things,
performing their wizardry
on crusty ground,
pushing through,
making room for more life
The sun was here briefly,
later the cold wind came through,
but didn’t deter us from harvesting
sweetness and strength
from the field of our connection
and the truth that is with us
wherever we go.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 23, 2019
My hands still smell like loam
from digging with gloves in the dirt
which came in through the fingertips
settling under my nails —
I’ve scrubbed my hands
and the remaining scent
may be more memory than anything
The best part was the teamwork —
the two of us trying to move the black locust,
all stump and spine, rooted tight against the wall.
The choosing of tools, the digging, the prying,
the leverage applied, the clipping, the sawing
till it finally came free, and you settled it in
while I put tools away
and robins sang bright
as evening nestled down.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 9, 2019
This is a place where everyone can come
to feel comforted, refreshed, cherished,
this is a garden where you can come
and be affirmed. This is a garden
where your presence is wanted, needed,
this is a garden for tasting peace
Outside the walls, there may be harsh winds,
outside the gate, there may be predators,
but inside, you can feed
on what builds up your spirit,
you can grow strong enough
to venture anywhere.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 10, 2018