Lesson of the Bowl

The bowl is empty. It has suffered more loss than I,
Used and washed anew each day. Useful for a time,
then not. A thing to put away. Waiting until a day
when it can be useful again.

It is a thing of austere beauty.
A beauty unused. Largely unnoticed in the window.
It’s clear clean lines catching the light
for any able to notice. Few do.

But I do. It catches my eye and holds it
like catching myself in a mirror,
a sudden suprise at the emptiness,
once so full. A sudden sadness

It is part of who I am. Things remind me of things.
It is all tied together and I never forget.
Love and loss compound one another
and it is harder to recover from either one
than you could imagine.

And so you stare at the wooden bowl in the light.
Patient and waiting. It is easy for the bowl.
It does not live. It has no need for patience,
sure again it’s time will come.

At times, and this is one, I am as dead as the bowl.
Waiting for what I know. That God has his plans,
and in the end, they are always about filling.
Cups run over. Water turns into wine,

and none are immune unless they close themselves off
from a world of beauty and the sureness
that something is always waiting in the wings
to fill you. Again and again, always again.

It is one of the worries of old men.
Will you be filled again? Do you have the strength
to b drained and start anew? I wonder sometimes.
It has been a long life and so much has been taken.

And so, I slow down. I take time to savor what is left.
Wait for what is to come. To be filled,
with something, anything. I reach for the bowl.
Enough lessons. It is time for breakfast.

Begining anywhere.

About this poem.

Poetry is never about one thing. Regular readers know this is one of my mantras.

You may recognize hints of Psalm 23 in this poem. You who know me well will know I have suffered a deep loss this past week. I know it will feel better. That is one of the values of age, By now I know that I will heal and how it will happen. There is some advice from my first therapist in Virginia many years ago, that in hard times you focus on the tiny gifts God leaves scattered around like diamonds. Some amazing things have happened in this week of loss and I do not allow myself to hurt so much that miss them. Rehab for the heart.

The photograph was taken at the American Frontier Museum in Staunton, Virginia.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom