Tag: Sicily

Aftermath Inventory

famed Polish sculptor Igor Mitoraj’s winged Ikaria on exhibition at il Castello Maniace, Siracusa, Sicilia
May 2024


Aftermath Inventory

Shattered? Of course,
That matters.
But
What comes next
Is all
I can hope to master.

Knowing, deep in my
Bones,
Not all hurt harms.

My wounds?
If
Somehow, I
Grow through them,
Aren’t they also a boon?

My scars?
Someday,
They might shine
Brighter than stars.

Gregory Orr, The Last Love Poem I Will Ever Write, W.W. Norton & Co., 2019

One from the draft folder. For a morning when the night before, after my monthly Zoom with a friend, I opted for time with Walker rather than sitting at my desk, searching for a poem that might fit the week.

Maybe not exactly relevant, but eventually it comes around to this. The shattering. The reflection on hurts – given and received. Remembering that not all hurt harms. That it could be an invitation to lean in. Get real. Remember who and what matters most in the moment. At the time. Take the step, say the word to let them know.

My wounds. Your wounds. Our wounds. That when we grow through them, use them as compost for this day and the next, we might discover we’ve grown a well-lived and much-loved life.

My scars. Your scars. Our scars. Inevitable, too. Mark us among the living. The loving. Hearts broken by griefs shared, untold. Filled with gold, may they shine brighter than stars.

May we.

Much love and kindest regards, dear friends.

Knife

Molokai, Hawaii

KNIFE

Something
just now
moved through my heart
like the thinnest of blades
as that red-tail pumped
once with its great wings
and flew above the gray, cracked
rock wall.

It wasn’t
about the bird, it was
something about the way
stone stays
mute and put, whatever
goes flashing by.

Sometimes,
when I sit like this, quiet,
all the dreams of my blood
and all outrageous divisions of time
seem ready to leave,
to slide out of me.
Then, I imagine, I would never move.

By now
the hawk has flown five mile
sat least,
dazzling whoever else has happened
to look up.
I was dazzled. But that
wasn’t the knife.

It was the sheer, dense wall
of blind stone
without a pinch of hope
or a single unfulfilled desire
sponging up and reflecting,
so brilliantly,
as it has for centuries,
the sun’s fire.

– Mary Oliver –

The photo above, taken when we spent a few days on the “off the beaten path” Hawaiian island of Molokai, might be a better correspondence with the image evoked by Mary Oliver’s words. Yet, I love how LIFE finds its way into cracks and crevices, making beauty within the improbable.

Agrigento, Sicilia