These shriveled seeds we plant,
corn kernel, dried bean,
poke into loosened soil,
cover over with measured fingertips
These T-shirts we fold into
perfect white squares
These tortillas we slice and fry to crisp strips
This rich egg scrambled in a gray clay bowl
This bed whose covers I straighten
smoothing edges till blue quilt fits brown blanket
and nothing hangs out
This envelope I address
so the name balances like a cloud
in the center of sky
This page I type and retype
This table I dust till the scarred wood shines
This bundle of clothes I wash and hang and wash again
like flags we share, a country so close
no one needs to name it
The days are nouns: touch them
The hands are churches that worship the world
Naomi Shihab Nye,
(from The Words Under the Words)
(from The Words Under the Words)
5 comments:
This brought tears to my eyes, all of a sudden I just welled up. Such a surprise when that happens, to be moved unexpectedly, to feel that deeply.
"The hands are churches that worship the world"....the everyday tasks, the mundane, the repetitive. It's all sacred, comforting, centering. Just lovely. Thank you.
What a lovely way to honor and important day.
It is a happy day to remember our earth and daily doings honor our way of life upon remembrance.
Thank you for sharing Naomi Shihab Nye, I love her poetry!
Wishing you all good health, provision and protection.
~the wild magnolia
Beautiful words that touch my heart. Thank you for sharing...
thank you for sharing this gorgeous poem....fills my heart with comfort.
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