Our world is fragile
yet crocuses cup sunshine
and daffodils bloom
Tag: flowers
Come spring!
Come spring, come spring,
Let flowers sing!
Let no more melancholy winter reign,
With its thousand reasons to complain.
No more introspection in the dark
Be rather joyous as the lark!
Burst outside the walls your soul restricting
Let yourself fly on winds uplifting.
A hillside of flowers catches my eye
I hurry toward them on feet light and lithe.
Tiny crocuses shake in the breeze
Delighted to see them I drop to my knees
Translucent petals tremble and sigh
But lift their glowing faces to the sky.
Despite the February frost,
Let not one day of sunshine be lost!
Come spring!
Every Child Matters: September 30th
This September 30th was the 5th anniversary of my daughter Josephine’s birth. And death. Stillborn. It’s a bittersweet day for me, as we mourn and remember and celebrate her, especially by planting fall bulbs which will fill our garden with colour in the spring. We try to fill her birthday, one haunted by painful memories, with as much love and beauty as we can. We feel the wordless warmth of her love in return, across the temporary divide into the next life. The prayers and kind messages of friends take the sharp edge off this poignant day.
Josephine’s birthday is also Orange Shirt day, the special day assigned to commemorate the suffering of First Nations children separated from their families and put in residential schools. Having lost a child myself, I feel a stab of sympathy when I think of these families who had their children torn away from them. They had the additional torture of anxiety for their children’s happiness and well-being, knowing these were being violated. So from the heart of a mother which has been broken by grief, I send all my deepest wishes for healing and hope to all who have suffered in this way.
I was touched by the slogan below when my sister sent me this poster:
Every child matters.
No qualifying statements: no ‘if/then clauses’ like if they’re wealthy, they matter; if they’re white, they matter; if they’re wanted, they matter, if they’re old enough, they matter. No.
EVERY CHILD MATTERS.
When I saw a petition for equal health care for Inuit babies, I was a bit naively shocked….what do you mean, some babies in Canada often don’t receive equal care?? It seems that in their more extreme climate, many Inuit babies suffer seriously from RSV (respiratory virus syndrome), and some even succumb to it, despite the existence of a preventative antibody that is normally given to at-risk babies. It is not standardly given to them. I’m at a loss to know why. Cost, perhaps? Since when have we put a price tag on human life? Moreover, why is that price tag different depending whose child you are? Every child matters.
To say that some babies matter more than others is to commodify human beings, that is, to turn them into objects of variable worth…mere things whose value is determined by other frail human beings. This makes no sense. Either all babies matter, or none do.
Canada is such a gift. A beautiful country which is filled with so many diverse peoples. Let us please work towards making it a place where it is truly clear that every child matters, no matter what.
Dry Bones Blooming
They look like a bowl of dried bones,
cold and lifeless–
a tragic ode to time lost
and utterly incapable of change–
but look more closely!
Within their crinkled-shut hearts,
clenched in the knuckles of their bony hands,
are tiny gems
bursting with possibility!
When the sun’s warm gaze melts
the unfeeling snow
into lovely spring water,
blooms will unfurl
from these dusty bones.
After winter’s grimness,
we’ll see the world in colour again,
and the flowers will laugh
that we thought them dead.
Focused as a Flower
I wish I knew how to grow
with the single-minded purpose of flowers.
Up, up and ever increasing in beauty,
focused on the source of light and
undistracted by the tangle and clutter
of weeds and other plants nearby.
Neither thorns nor thistles
causing them to pause in self-doubt,
or think their mission would be better
if they were holding up
the heavy golden head of some other stem–
richness enough to be oneself.
Haiku 20
Feathery pinwheels–
if we look the other way,
will they start to dance?
Water of Life
Flowers have no muscles
yet they move
open / close
smile at the sun
kiss the sky goodnight
How is it possible?
Have you ever thought about this?
Only through their emptiness
are they able to be filled
The water of life coursing through their veins
gives them strength
Help me remember this
when I am parched and drooping
but refuse to drink
Fill me with this aqua vitae
give my spirit life
make my body rise again
to gaze at the sun
Wild and Free
I grow my garden
wild and free
I do not expect
it bow to me
My joy it is
to watch it bloom
Nor do I wish
its beauty to consume
to cut and cull
alone preserve
no longer in the wind and sun
to dance and curve
Not for me it is
to choose the day
nor the colour it shall bloom
So many shades of beauty
wild and free
Though I was the one
to plant the seeds
my garden does not belong to me
Spring
Spring is finally here.
The toddler and I are equally happy
digging in the garden
with dirt under our fingernails
and warm sunshine in our hair.
Out in the garden,
I can almost forget my messy house
–rooms cluttered with kids’ clothes and toys–
out here where dirt means not disorder,
but openness to growth
and getting messy is a necessary step
on the path to beauty.
Just East Of Crazy Land 