Tag Archives: story

First Light

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innis-arden-morning-fog

My heart comes back from its night of dreams
eager to tell its stories,
rendered quiet by lack of words
as all the memory has faded

My heart, resilient and decorous,
as it has been throughout the night,
waits beneath my morning musings and remembrances.
It might have something to say
when the time is right

Though when I come around to asking,
it is reticent, for I have made my mental scene
too busy to receive its message

Ah, heart — here’s some stillness for you —
beneath the beep of backing trucks
and the squawk of crows,
and the louder blaring of my random thoughts,
a pause, a prayer, a listen —
There. Your turn.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 14, 2016

In the Slow Evening Living Room

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dock-with-kayak

What part of my life
would I dwell in
if confined to the world of my memories?

(The old man loops on Providence,
his sisters and the people and streets
he used to know)

Would I choose to hang out in my childhood,
the summer games of hide and seek,
the chlorine-lung feeling from long days
in the swimming pool? Or the scattered
gems of joy throughout the stringent years of school?

Probably not in adolescence, despite the sparks
of spiritual enlightenment, and the strong feelings
too deep under the surface for me to fathom

And young adulthood, though it had its triumphs,
contained too many gaffes for me to want to re-inhabit,
though the growth, a little later,
was quite compelling

There was great joy in having children
and the fierce love that came with it,
but there was also anguish and constricting fears

Considering my rising tide of happiness,
I think I’d rather stay here
in these last five years.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 12, 2016

Hall of Mirrors

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pilings

None of these distorted images
are your fault. There is no regime
that you must now adopt
to fix your bulbous middle
or your stretched out face.
You can’t be changed
by walking through here —
these traits will not stay with you
when you step outside

Though you may find it
disorienting
to see so many of you,
on and on to greened infinity,
though in the multiplicity
you feel so damned alone,
don’t be alarmed,
for when you shut your eyes
you’ll feel the company of others,
everyone who’s ever felt this way,
everyone who has emerged unscathed.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 8, 2016

A Love Story

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honeysuckle, cedar

Some recognition sparked between them:
beneath the costumes, beneath
the designated roles,
they could see that they were equals,
that they could hone themselves
against each other, that they
would each feel their own strength rising
in ways they’d never reached without each other

They could see a common destiny —
they rode it for a flash,
they rode it longer, trying to ford
the mounting confusion
gathering around them
because their costumes didn’t match
and the customs that prescribed their roles
had a different story
than their equality

Many imagined their alliance doomed
or just imagined — how, after all,
could they have any common ground?
The end of this story will depend
on what you think is strong
and what you think is true.

Years later,
they will both look back
and see how much they’ve grown.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 27, 2016

Self Doubt

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Carkeek tree

Well if the only thing required
is to not give up, I think
I should be able
to manage that

The exposure
of all my years of
not really pulling my weight
will not by itself sink me
just as long as I don’t
keep on doing nothing

It scares me, the level of my helplessness.
But maybe I can do something.
Maybe there is a use
for my mind, for my perspective

Maybe if I just
don’t give up today,
things will start getting clearer
and eventually
what I’m here for
will be apparent to me
and also others.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 19, 2016

Time

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carkeek early

Maybe the whole span of
what we call time,
its mountain ranges and its geologic tales,
the reaches and the misses,
what seems to be haphazard,
the careful plans, extensive engineering,
legacies that mark the futures
of many generations,

Maybe in the scheme of things,
all of time is just a small ripped edge,
a narrow line, the space between
the yearning and the “aha”,
desire and its fulfillment,
the longing and the saturating sweetness
of satisfaction

Maybe it doesn’t matter at all
if something was instant
or took a long, long time,
in the scheme of what we are,
the truth of what we’ve always been.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 18, 2016

Caregiving

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signs of heaven

We look for signs of heaven
in our cool living room
(sheltered from summer heat)
when the old man awakes from sleep
and asks, are all my sisters gone?

I lived a good life, he says.
Yes, you’ll make it in alright, I say.
I ask him what he thinks it’s like,
and if he thinks he’ll see them.
He says a little; I don’t press it

For I feel we’ve touched, perhaps,
a depth I haven’t seen in some time
(or maybe ever)
I listen, instead, to the sound of traffic
coming in the open window.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 28, 2016

Waves

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Richmond Beach waves

I watched the waves come in steady —
for each three breaking, three more would appear.
At every moment, some were ending,
some were forming,
some would break and some just disappeared

I thought of life, of opportunities
as if each were a wave, as if I had to choose,
as if some waves would bring me
the fulfillment that I hoped for,
while other choices might well disappoint

and then I watched the light across the water,
the brightness of the blues, the constancy
of all the pattern, and I knew
what comes into my life is not beholden
on luck or on the choices that I make

Just as all this sea
is given to my eyes, and all this beach,
so all my days are given me, and all their joy —
There are no misses, no crestfallen choices.
The one who gives me life
has promised goodness, too,
and gives it constantly
throughout my days.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 9, 2016

Undersides

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Holly's

Jennifer says we think the same thoughts
all our lives. She says we never really change.

That may be, but still I see
a different view these days,
something like the undersides of leaves,
how light shines through them differently,
lending a softness to their edges, their presence

I think I see things softer now,
with less of an opinion
and more of a willingness
to let the light spill through
however it does, without needing
to be catalogued or edited

I think there’s more shadow
on the underside of my thoughts,
places where grief may gather
and keep itself company,
places for things to be undefined,
against which a days brightnesses
can stand out in relief.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 4, 2016

What Matters

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grass and sky

Life, as it turns out,
is the only thing that matters.
We found out later
that we had gone through years halted,
an arm, perhaps, behind our backs,
some other essential element
not fully activated

We watched our thoughts scrambling
to make it right for ourselves,
to justify our failures or to vindicate,
to seek a truer path
or to decide that it’s too late,
to let the whole conglomerated
thing we’ve called our lives
keep tumbling along its haphazard course
to whatever inevitable end
the fall line has in store.

But the only thing that matters is Life.
Life that chirps above the traffic’s roar,
that unfolds in holy intricacy
beneath the ground,
that blesses odd moments with swift streaks of delight,
that rests us gently on the pillow of dreams
and rises in us, a constant consciousness,
the tenderness that takes us by surprise,
the love that keeps us opening our eyes.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 23, 2016