Tag Archives: transition

Packing

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Jewelry, small containers,
knick-knackeroo  –
we’re getting down to the small stuff
and we’re so far from through

I wonder, will we ever
open this  box again?
Will we ever want to use these things,
and if so, when?

These tracks, the leavings
of the course of our lives  –
perhaps that’s all they are
and we could leave them behind
like footsteps in the sand
to simply disappear –
Why should it matter what becomes of them,
why give them all this care?
And yet I keep on packing up the boxes

And I think: if I don’t free myself
then something else will –
this is something that I know for sure is true,
but this picture of my daughter in the frame she made –
that’s coming with us,
and this other stuff will, too.

©Wendy Mulhern
January 18, 2022

Artifacts of our presence

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The wind through the fence
as vocal as any bird
speaks of the artifacts
of our presence –
not yet picturesque
except perhaps from some perspectives

Trees we’ve planted –
some of them rise
above their blue tubes –
others we take on faith
or on imagination,
visualizing groves

We have made mud swaths
where there was grass,
we have made piles –
of tools, of compost,
of equipment

Things are still beautiful
in varying lights of day and night.
We’ve made them less so,
but hope that’s only for a time,

©Wendy Mulhern
April 7, 2020

Ready to launch

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Just now, walking back from next door,
(five days in and none too soon)
it felt like the new year. Something about
the cold air, maybe,
or the gibbous moon,
something about the clarity of the dark sky

Quick as the steps through the dark,
well known enough that I wouldn’t trip
on the rough ground,
I felt a sort of whirring,
a clicking in of hope, of stamina —
I looked up — something inside said
OK, I’m ready,
ready to launch.

©Wendy Mulhern
January 5, 2020

The World of People

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Everywhere we stopped,
I wanted to eavesdrop,
wanted to throw myself
into the current
of other people’s lives,
wanted to feel
whatever it was they were feeling,
though I never really could quite hear

Out on the land
I am alive to the sounds
of geese and ravens,
turkeys, owls, the cycles
of water, of the seasons,
and the tutelage of Spirit,
my mind cleaving eager
to what it teaches

The world of people
drifts so far away,
I forget the goals, the games …
and though I don’t know
if I’ll ever play again,
I still, it seems, am drawn to watch.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 21, 2019

Another point of leaving

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I take this ride
fueled by spring —
by blossom scent and balmy air

I hit against the memories
along the road — some time it’s been
since last I traveled here

I’m brought up short
by change — holes in the tree scape,
boxy buildings where they were —

Surprised again by how a gap
can suddenly unhook the tendrils of a place
and make it mine no more.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 2, 2019

100 Mile Bakery

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Days are getting colder —
wind shifts the sun between radiant and bleak,
my face feels the glow of heat
from fires and indoor furnaces

Here at the bakery
amid the generosity of pies,
I imagine holidays,
bringing forth a steaming offering
suffused in gratitude

The place, the faces
are undetermined
but I can hope
Life will provide
all the needed elements
for the occasion,
all that will be given and received.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 10, 2018

A New Life

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Though I see light all around me,
it’s still my time (it seems)
to walk in silence

There may never be a time where I say
look, this is the way to do it —
by the time I get there
everybody else will be there, too.
That would be fine with me —
I’d love to never tell anybody anything again

Maybe instead we’ll just
build a new life for ourselves,
here on the land —
a life that offers shelter and encouragement
for those who need this place, this light, this time,
for those who, for their needing, we will need.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 20, 2018

Life Line

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I don’t even wish
I had understood these things sooner —
they render such desires irrelevant.
Loss is gain, life propels us forward

I have clearly reached the place
of the divide of my life line
written on my right hand (not my left)
that I had wondered at since childhood,
told myself maybe the left is what counts for me,
being left handed. Maybe palm lines
mean nothing

In any case it doesn’t matter.
There are no circumstances which
avoiding would release me
from the journey I’ve been given,
no failure on my part which could deprive me
of the path where I’ve been sent.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 13, 2018

Tectonic

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The aftermath of this momentous shift
has me rethinking
all the well worn habits of my thought,
noticing the places I have drifted,
how my feet don’t seem to quite touch down

The day hums along its course,
people meet and plan —
their life arcs are as perfect
as the cause that runs them.
And what is misaligned
will shift and come together,
smooth or volcanic,
it doesn’t matter

Just like me, just like my finding
that though I crash through pain,
I do not stay there, and everything
that comes to me can be redeemed.
It may take time, but time is not the factor —
it will take place,
it will be all that’s ever been.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 11, 2018

After the rain

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These flowers bloom
even if their stems bow down,
even if their faces hit the soil
and their petals
begin to commune
with the ground, with the turning
of everything back
to the place of starting over,
humble and dark and untroubled
by being anything with a name,
anything but ready
for the things
whose time has come to begin.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 30, 2018