Tuesday, April 29, 2014

The hardest thing

with my two grown children,
each with new babies,

is letting them grow down
into themselves.

I had them
close to the bone

in two years and I survived
the feedings, washings,

readings to, puttings to bed,
keeping some things in order

on a shoestring
though the cost

to me was a barrenness
of long lonely days

until I was sure
nothing alive could sprout

from me ever again.
All things rub together

into nothing.
This is where we vibrate.

Slowly, invisibly
and then the tiny tendril flame.



16 comments:

  1. Oh, oh, oh... out of barrenness, out of nothingness, that 'tiny tendril flame'...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Robert, when I grasp even for a moment the miracle of nature, and of the human ability to regenerate, I'm stunned to silence. Thank you.

      Delete
  2. I love your opening line and how this poem is so subtly springlike with its reference to growing things. Other meaning I see in it involves the importance of letting go, being okay with emptiness, and giving space for independence. This, of course, is just my humble interpretation. :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Jade, you make good observations. I do think this sprang subconsciously from a long, hard winter, as well as the dark time of being alone with two little ones all day. I imagine that many more mothers (and maybe fathers too) suffer depression than we realize. Thankfully for me, it was not a long term condition, and now I am bubbling over with energy for grandchildren. But it is always there for young parents who are sleep deprived and face so many hurdles while babies are little.

      Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts very much.

      Delete
  3. Beautiful, Ruth, and so insightful to recognize that "the barrenness of long lonely days" often create the life-giving vibration or quickening from which the "tiny tendril flame" begins to burn.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. George, how we resist feelings of emptiness, loneliness, depression. But I think if we learned to accept them, even welcome them as places of growth in understanding, some of the anxiety might dissipate. Thank you.

      Delete
  4. Oh Ruth -- this is so from the heart, so deeply personal and so incredibly deep and filled with emotion. I love every single word and phrase.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Jeanie, thank you so much for your generous heart in response to my honest little poem. It does us no good, I feel, to hide all our realities from the world.

      Delete
  5. Where I go with these thoughts, dear Ruth, is to how you raised your two children without any grandmas nearby to share the love and load. And now look at you as grandma, sharing almost everything! (Remind me to talk about this a bit more on Skype....)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Boots, yes, I think of this often, and how much we have lost as Western family and mothers, so independent and alone. Maybe that drives me to be with my grandchildren as much as possible, and help their parents. I'm so grateful they are this close, for now.

      Delete
  6. for me the poem works upon these (awesome!) lines as though these lines are the internal mechanism to the machine of the whole poem, and are in fact the mechanism to the whole machine of life and our stories inside of time,

    "All things rub together/into nothing./This is where we vibrate."

    without these lines the poem would be a synopsis, perhaps. with these lines the poem is powerful.

    xo
    erin

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, Erin. On one hand I so long to protect my children from the weight of these days. I see the weariness in their faces, and I know that at times it borders on desperation. But on the other hand I know that we all must find within ourselves the strength we need for what life brings. Somehow this happens most meaningfully, I think, when we are drained of every ounce of strength we thought we had. God/Life is there in that empty place (our divine self, whatever you want to call it). That's what I was feeling in this, and I'm grateful that those lines did something for you. xo

      Delete
  7. Erin formed the thought I had into words. I'm awed by the raw truth you managed to lay bare.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Rosaria, thank you for feeling that in response to this piece. I was so happy to see your sweet grandbaby at FB. <3

      Delete
  8. I don't know why but this makes me sad.....and at the same time aware. Life is so throbbing full and seeing the moments of intensity, like the time of giving birth and a time that occurs long since giving birth - is beautiful. Vibration is all those things rubbing together and bringing something new into consciousness.

    ReplyDelete
  9. When I first read this, I was moved to silence, as the dark time came rushing back...now, I think that Erin has caught the essence of this poem beautifully. It is all in those final lines: the emptiness, the vibrations(!) where inner life resides--perhaps between them--and the final spark of hope. Thank you for this, Ruth.

    ReplyDelete

All responses are welcome.