The roar of hammering and sawing has begun! The reshaping of the kitchen is underway! The reducing of our whale-size house and belongings–down to a respectful salmon-size, is practically levitating.
And, right in the middle of this ocean of movement…. comes a poem. A poem that has me rocking back and forth on a stair, in an empty house, in an evening sunbeam, crying. It gently strips away everything, back to a key ingredient for everyone I know–and especially the elderly and the teens I know and love. Love yourself. Love yourself. You only get one life, and its completely yours, for your own creative meandering. Embrace the whole agonizingly exquisite thing.
LOVE AFTER LOVE
The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.