Residue

wipeitout


A Table in the Wilderness

Li-Young Lee, 1957
I draw a window
and a man sitting inside it.I draw a bird in flight above the lintel.

That’s my picture of thinking.

If I put a woman there
instead of the man, it’s a picture of speaking.

If I draw a second bird
in the woman’s lap, it’s ministering.

A third flying below her feet.
Now it’s singing.

Or erase the birds
make ivy branching
around the woman’s ankles,
clinging to her knees, and it becomes remembering.

You’ll have to find your own
pictures, whoever you are,
whatever your need.

As for me, many small hands
issuing from a waterfall means silence
mothered me.

The hours hung like fruit in night’s tree
means when I close my eyes
and look inside me,

a thousand open eyes
span the moment of my waking.

Meanwhile, the clock
adding a grain to a grain
and not getting bigger,

subtracting a day from a day
and never having less, means the honey

lies awake all night
inside the honeycomb
wondering who its parents are.

And even my death isn’t my death
unless it’s the unfathomed brow
of a nameless face.

Even my name isn’t my name
except the bees assemble

a table to grant a stranger
light and moment in a wilderness
of Who? Where?
Every Thursday

3 thoughts on “Residue

    1. Thank you Vanessa! I knew about this poem for a while but did not know what to pair it with. Today I found the right image for what it evoked for me. And thank you for being such a loyal follower of my blog! Since getting away from Facebook I have much to catch up on with my fellow artists on WP, and that is a good thing for me. HUG.

      Liked by 1 person

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