Mary.

Moments

There are moments that cry out to be fulfilled.

Like, telling someone you love them.

Or giving your money away, all of it.

Your heart is beating, isn't it?

You're not in chains, are you?

There is nothing more pathetic than caution

when headlong might save a life, 

even, possibly, your own. 

Mary.

Tell me, what is it

you plan to do

with your one wild

and precious life?

Mary.

You don't want to hear the story

of my life, and anyway

I don't want to tell it, I want to listen

to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.

And anyway it's the same old story -

a few people just trying,

one way or another,

to survive.

Mostly, I want to be kind.

Mary.

I worried

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers

flow in the right direction, will the earth turn

as it was taught, and if not how shall

I correct it?

Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,

can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows

can do it and I am, well,

hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,

and I am going to get rheumatism,

lockjaw, dementia?

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.

And gave it up. And took my old body

and went out into the morning,

and sang.

Mary.

4.

Instructions for living a life:

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.

Mary.

To live in this world

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your own bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time come to

let it go,

to let it go.

Mary.

También quise

ser capaz de amar. Y todos sabemos

cómo funciona eso

¿no?

Lento.

Also I wanted

to be able to love. And we all know

how that one goes, 

don't we?

Slow.

Mary.

Are you breathing just a little,

and calling it a life?

Mary.

The uses of sorrow

(in my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me

a box full of darkness. 

It took me years to understamd

that this, too, was a gift.