Monday, November 24, 2014


This, my morning prayer poem 
(It will accompany me for some time, I suspect)

by Marie Howe

Even if I don’t see it again — nor ever feel it
I know it is — and that if once it hailed me
it ever does–

and so it is myself I want to turn in that direction
not as toward a place, but it was a tilting
within myself,

as one turns a mirror to flash the light to where
it isn’t — I was blinded like that — 

and swam in what shone at me,
only able to endure it by being no one and so
specifically myself I thought I’d die
from being loved like that.


jess said...

This is just too much, Mom - too much!

jess said...

I would like very much to hear the story behind 7342 - when the time is right!