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February 25, 2012

The Way After

Sometimes we find ourselves in a time and situation  where there is no "how" to be known or found.  There are no instructions for letting go--aside from those two words themselves. 

Julie Stuckey wrote the following poem  in response to a dear friend's journey throughout her first year of life without her husband. 

In this poem, we learn of the benefits  and blessings of letting go, also of the possibility  of finding a sense of peace and continued communion after loss if we can,  when we can ...


Surrender        
             to Lin
 
Joe is beyond
          being dragged along…
this heavy burden you carry
is not him.
He is weary
          of being millstone,
knows the heft of his verity
was not meant to be worn
as a sheath          obscuring
your own authenticity.

That sharp, keening pain
          is not Joe…
He is lightsome feather mantle
          of whispered grace.
He is pileated flier urging winged passage
through piercing eye communion.

He is dawn’s recollection of cradled oneness.

He is faintest breeze caressing your cheeks
…cannot permeate this ponderous cloak
out of which you have fashioned
          your shield of worldly indifference…

carries his presence
known only within the haven
of surrender. 

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Poem copyright Julie Stuckey, all rights reserved.

Julie Stuckey grew up in Pennsylvania, earned a bachelor’s degree in business from the University of Delaware, and currently lives in Pawling, New York. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in many literary journals and anthologies, including: Apropos Literary Journal, Dead Mule, A Handful of Dust, Into the Teeth of the Wind, Moonshot Magazine, Prairie Wolf Press Review, Seven Hills Review, Verdad, WestWard Quarterly, and Wilderness House Literary Review

You might also be interested in visiting some of our posts on friends being present in times of grief here. Or, type "friends" in the search bar above.

February 19, 2012

Combing for Meaning

From sea to seashore, we move from Shirley Smothers' dream to Lamar Hankins' musings on the winter of life, as he strolls along the shore at Matagorda Bay in Texas. Sometimes, even imperfection is a sign that, as Julian of Norwich once wrote: "All is well, all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

Inga Nielsen, iStock














Beachcombing in Winter

by Lamar Hankins
 
Beachcombing
on the Texas coast
in Winter
is splendid

Walking with head bowed
searching
the profusion of shells
and the ocean detritus
for familiar patterns
on the canvas of the sand

The air is cool
the surf as cold as a glass of iced tea
in the summer

Beachcombing is a simple pleasure
enjoyable as a solitary venture
made special when shared with
a lover and a four-legged friend

The finds are abundant —
sea glass in all shapes and colors
smoothly worn rocks in many shapes,
like clay playfully extruded through
the hands of a free-style potter
sundials of all sizes
turkey wing arks
angel wings
lightning whelks
coquinas
shark eyes
keyhole limpets
scallops in varying colors and sizes
a duck clam and southern quahog
that yield their delicacies after
twelve minutes in boiling water
an oval corbula
sea snails
baby’s ears
a stout tagelus
a sand dollar—rare on this part of the Texas coast
purple barnacles and more

Once I sought only perfect shells
As I have entered the Winter of my own life
I appreciate the imperfections
in the shells I see

An imperfect sundial is still a marvel
as are we all

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Copyright 2012, Lamar Hankins, all rights reserved.