The Return of Grass

Brokenness takes only a moment.
Destruction is easy.
Carnage ripples like lightning in the forest, A
all flame and bluster

And it is the rest of us left to rise.
When the tantrums have burnt themselves out.
To rebuild. To plant seeds anew.
to wait for them, tend the soil,

feed the tender shoots,
tend to them in the debris,
to remind the remainders
that each bloom matters

no matter where it grows.
It is hard work,
Particularly when it is not your first time,
and you know just how long it takes,

and you do not know
if you have the energy
to do it again,
and yet again.

You do of course.
Something about you is hopeless.
Your protest is your survival.
You do not rail against the makers or rubble

As much as you subvert it.
One brick at a time. A flower here and there,
each one the promise of gardens,
triggering, you hope,

memories of love and what it feels like
to be loved. To love,
knowing there will be a next time,
but persistent nonetheless,

sure in your belief
that love matters,
and so do you.

About this poem

A poem about today’s politics, about the end of love, about the devastations of life that we all face at one time or another, and often more than once. A rallying cry for myself because the truth is, most of my preaching is to myself.

The photograph was taken in Provincetown, Mass, at the Audubon Nature Center.