A Little HopeI held the hydrangeas under the hose
and watched a few white crab spiders
skitter out of the interlocking blossoms,
and down my hand. Untouched by
their beauty, by the amplified buzzing
of a bumblebee rolling inside the pollen-
rich cup of a windflower, I was tired
of news unspooling everything that’s wrong
with the world, weary of endless lies.
Not even the sheen of green feathers
on an Anna’s hummingbird hovering in the air
near my face, staring into my eyes,
could lift me out of my melancholy.
But I’ve learned to preserve such moments,
keep them like plums in a jar so that
I can open them again later and feast on
what I was not yet ready to receive.
I knew that simply by arranging
the hydrangeas, those cloudbursts of pink
and white, in a vase on the bureau
I was also rearranging some things
inside myself, placing a little hope
and care beside the despair.
We all have those days when, though we know wonder and beauty are ever present around us, we simply cannot receive or absorb them. Whether through fatigue, burnout, or the weariness of living through a time of endless lies and useless war, it can be hard to disconnect and touch in on what is more essential. I’d been working on this poem already when I came upon a quote from Jane Hirshfield in the latest issue of Rattle Magazine: “The allegiance to beauty in plummeting times feels to me one antidote to despair, even while staying open-eyed, vulnerable to every direction of the human.” In just that single sentence, Jane managed to sum up exactly what I had been feeling and practicing: staying allegiant to the beauty around me, even when I could not necessarily feel it—while also remaining open-eyed and permeable to what is happening in our world. There will be moments when beauty and gratitude for our lives seem like locked rooms we simply cannot enter. In those instants, I find it useful to trust in something larger the self, and to go through the motions, choosing to believe I will not always feel like this. Cutting and gathering those hydrangeas, something I do every August when they begin to turn that shade of antique pink I love, felt like the ultimate act of hope to me, in part because I couldn’t appreciate them right away, even as I held them underneath the stream of the hose. But I knew I’d feel differently the next morning, when that vase of blossoms stopped me in my tracks, and I was able at last to pause and breathe in this antidote I had given myself.
Invitation for Writing & Reflection: What are some of the antidotes to despair you are finding and practicing at this moment? What allows you to pause and take a breath? You might describe a moment when wonder felt like a locked door to you, but you pushed through and entered anyway.
If you appreciate this free weekly offering, please consider making a one-time donation here, or upgrading to a sustaining member below.
Some Ways to Gather This Fall: Sunday, 9/13 at 2pm ET: ONE ART free reading hosted by editor Mark Danowsky,
Tuesday, 10/6 at 4pm ET: Zenful Conversations hosted by ZenJen Brown, Poetry & Sacred Conversation with dear friend/poetry partner, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer. Register here
Beginning Friday, 10/16 at 1pm ET: The Sacred Everyday Poetry Webinar/Retreat with guests Jane Hirshfield, January Gill O’Neil, Mark Nepo, Carrie Newcomer, and Kimberly Blaeser. More info here
Photo credit above: by Christina Dahl on Unsplash
No posts
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.