When the World was Whole
did it not hold us all together
in one great bowl? Feather, bone,
leaf, gill and cloud. Atoms
were atoms, tongues tongues,
skin skin. Land sprawled
without claim.
Waters fed each other.
We led to each other.
Hallelujahs were sent up for small
bowls of rice with broth, for fresh bread
baked by clay, clay baked by sun.
For abundant crops, for birth and another
year lived, we offered merci and mashallah.
Dance and song lifted skyward the day
the rains came here, the day the rains stopped there.
Seams were made in old soles that wore
a path to the water hole that gave and gave
without complaint. Cloth was sewn together turning
three tattered robes into one brightly colored cloak.
We praised the needle, the thread, the eye,
the nimble hand, the old wearer who held
knowledge of which plants healed what wounds.
The echo of all that simple praise lives on
in each thing we hold up to the light. Don’t tell me
you don’t hear it when you put down your phone,
in the quiet bow of your head when you’re alone,
it settles into the hollow just behind your breast,
lives in between the want of your pressed palms.
When day comes home and you sit across from love
the table spread with enough for everyone, with enough
you think to yourself, maybe even say out loud,
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
When The World Was Whole
Dear Ellen, it seems to me I can hear the sounds of the sea, a particular rhythm in your wondrous poem. I rarely come back
to a poem I have been touched by, yet here I’ve returned thrice. As if creation was born just here, in your dear language.
Oh Joseph, I’m so touched by your lovely feedback. Thank you. I’m so happy the poem spoke to you.
Mahalo Ellen. Poems are prayers. This is one of the best I’ve found in a good while.
I agree with Joseph., this poem makes a reader come back and back again. Each and every line, standing alone, is astir with significance … made me stop and ponder. With each line, I’m roused to write a poem, and then with another look, I find a different line that moves me down another path. The coat of many colors! All the weaving you did here. “No Small Thing” … is that the collection where one can find this poem? I’ll send up all the hallelujahs as I reread your words. So glad I stopped for a minute this morning and took the time to read this. I hope it will, as I go through this day, make me more present, a battle for me in this noisy world.