We can never obtain peace in the outer
world until we make peace with ourselves.
– Dalai Lama
Terri Lynn Cummings
A third of what
the husband remembered was false.
Memories hid
inside, wearing masks
until they stepped
into the world
and delivered him
to or from himself.
Half of what the
wife said waited with no concern.
She simply told
herself, Say it. Do
it!
yet years had
passed before those words inspired
or were nothing
more than steam from a shower.
Yet when his
memories were deeds that replenished the earth
her actions seeded
life from the bed of inertia.
They infused their
days with more than dreams
that boiled like
water, churning until spent.
Now this man and
wife fill lungs with treasure
breathe and savor
their breath to the last.
Poet’s Notes: Sometimes, fingers point blame
at another when issues fester within ourselves. If not careful, the term ‘bad
marriage’ becomes an excuse and then reality. Recently, a friend laid
frustrations at the partner's feet. Insightful dialogue and action dissolved
the pressure. This led me to examine my marriages – one had faded but the other
bloomed.
Editor's Note: I am incredibly lucky in my choice of mate. Nevertheless, while I do
not identify with this poem, I believe many readers will. I particularly
enjoy the uplifting conclusion of this piece.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.