goldmourn (amberdawnpullin) wrote,
goldmourn
amberdawnpullin

poem: & what of beginnings?

This poem was for a Reflection Entry for a 2nd Term Class. The prompt was about Beginnings and the poem by Mary Oliver was included in our notes to serve as inspiration. It is italicized throughout this piece.
& one extra note, I was wrong. I had been out for a brief walk one morning in November.




& what of beginnings?

(Includes the poem: ‘Wild Geese’ by Mary Oliver’)

This does not feel like a beginning for me.
It feels like a tired continuation, a reminder
of past failures, missed chances, lost time.

“You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.”


The first week of the second term of the TPE Program did not feel like a beginning to me.
Not while around me and in my sphere of awareness, there are reminders of simultaneous endings.

I have begun this program multiple times. This was my first week as a 2nd term student.

“You only have to let the soft animal of your body
Love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.”


The first week of the second term, my Dad was hospitalized again. He is dying of end stage
alcoholism. He is 67 years old. DR’s will do one more procedure soon. Shunt from liver to heart.

“Meanwhile the world goes on.”

The same week, my estranged Mother, divorced from Dad since after my twin sister died as an
infant, contacts me on Facebook to demand my SIN #. She wants to claim me on CPP for years
she did not have custody. She phoned me for the first time in years and left a message. Cold.

I did not recognize her voice. I have not heard from her since.

“Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.”


I have lived in beautiful places and visited some as well. I see the world through
windows now. Last outside in September twenty-twenty, I travel in my dreams.

“Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
Are heading home again.”


I can see the sky from my desk at the window in this apartment. Twenty floors
high, I view the city skyline. Hunting birds with spanned wings that awe me and
that disturb sparrows, starlings and many pigeons that settle on the rooftops of the
Long Term Care Facility across the way. I can see the sunrise over the lake. The sunset
reflected off the glass of towers downtown in the distance. The moon when it reveals
itself, the waxing and the waning feel as much a beginning whether full or new, unseen.

I have heard the geese go past – this way or that – does it even matter when they travel now?
Which way they go? How can you know what home is if it doesn’t feel the same or does not exist?
Will they return when the seasons are not changing? Will their patterns ever diverge?

“Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –”


Oh, but were they calling to you or communicating amongst themselves?
We assume things are about us. Even nature. We tie up our endings and
connect beginnings to something so fierce and mysterious a force as Nature.
Harsh, yes. Exciting, sometimes. Depends on what you can handle, right?

Can you handle the nature of your beginnings?
Can you face the nature of inevitable endings?

“over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.”


& what of family?
& what of these things?

- amber dawn pullin, 18 January 2021 @ 9:57pm
Tags: poetry & prose
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