The Workings Within






I keep coming back to this poem by my friend Maya Stein. Even thought the season outside is not one of bursting forth, the imagery in this poem resonates with where my life is right now. Change. That fulcrum. The thoughts within that cannot agree about the future...or even the present at times.



old and new

We have such awe for the caterpillar. Reverence, even,
for its slow molting, for the poetry of its transformation. We watch, transfixed,
as it wrestles out of what was – that permeable, earthbound skin –
and catches the first whiff of flight. It’s not that the metaphor is lost
on us. We recognize the magnificence and rigor of metamorphosis, the ache
and necessity of change. But the turn of our own body we thwart and battle.
Our hearts cleave from an outgrown home but we groove claw marks in our wake –
departure like a hostile beast. Perhaps it’s the fulcrum in the see-saw that alarms.
That pause between the past waving its farewell and the future opening its palms.

(you can get more of Maya's 10-line Tuesdays poems here)

The photos are from a walk around the neighborhood and marches where my brother and sister-in-law live on the North Shore of Boston. Subtle beauty.