Monday, November 05, 2007
Through My Window
My mom has been in and out, in and out of the hospital for the past couple weeks. Somehow with "all that" I found myself online early this morning searching for I don't know what... something to hold onto.
I found this poem by Dorothy Hunt.
It says enough for now.
Look how this nakedness shows its vast wardrobe!
Here it dresses as a rose;
there it dresses as a car;
here the suit is Mother;
there the suit is Daughter.
Spirit does not inhabit these things.
Nothingness does not climb in and out.
The rose grows thorns
and does not bloom in winter;
the mother will one day sleep without waking
and her daughter will weep.