I also write because it is the only way I know how to be part of the Eternal Conversation. "Truth," says Parker Palmer, "is an eternal conversation about things that matter, conducted with passion and discipline." So today, I'm entering the conversation by joining in with Poetry Friday.
Jules, over at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, asked about the healing power of art. This is my reply. Perhaps I should have saved it for a more appropriate month. But that is the thing about entering. You use the door that is open before you.
The Bones of January
I love the plainness of January
when I have taken down my Christmas
finery, and in the shock
of my home stripped bare, I see
the corners of my rooms
again. And outside, all is
stark, gray, glorious
with no false beauty to help me
pretend that I am satisfied.
In January, I kneel beside my children’s
sleeping faces, and let them break
the leafless branches
that cage my chest.
And outside, all is
undone. Roots rend
the earth like bones.
How did this happen?
That all should be taken
and that love,
love should be plain
---Sara Lewis Holmes
Poetry Friday Roundup is at Farm School today.