Young for a summer’s spell but
gray-haired now. Still voracious,
hope’s moored where there’s
a brood and some fanfare.
In summer you looked at a snail
keeping stationary retracting body.
Till it decided to move–its surge
carried it so far you were amazed.
In a soft-spoken manner does
the universe works. Unobtrusive needle
pulling thread–swear, on your
heart, did you see fragments
of a tapestry?
Prompt: Given life’s vissisitudes how does one cope? I mean, the economy’s not doing too well. In real life, the middle classes are being sucked into the sink-hole of capitalism. Work is being outsourced to cheap foreign labor. Too many businesses squeezed by high rentals are closing shop. Everyone’s trying to make ends meet. How does the heart keep faith in bleak times?
I know that
hope is the hardest
love we carry.
–Jane Hirshfield, “Hope and Love”
Perhaps writing a poem is easier. Perhaps not.