Hallway to Nowhere

  • How We Can Mourn (Poem)

    How many tears are enough for the grief of the world?

    Can anyone now say even to themselves,

    “I can only mourn for this one loss?”

    Your heart will shatter anyway, and your eyes will burn from the salt.

    So now when we cry, whenever we cry, let our tears

    That flow with the wails of newly widowed women, that run down the faces of dying children, that drip unseen onto the hands of solitary men, and the ordinary ones that we shed from expected loss and unexpected reverberations

    Let our tears mingle into one great river.

    We cannot come together to stop death. We can at least come together to share our sorrow.

    (Tara was formed from the tear of Chenrezig who wept in compassion over a suffering world.

    Om tare tutare ture soha.)

  • The Heart Murmur (Poem)

    Your heart has always had a murmur.

    I have heard it whisper to me in the night,

    “I love you I love you I love you.”

    Though I only had a silent heart,

    I would hold you close and whisper back the same.

    Now the murmur has become so loud

    That I can hear it, hear it even over my tears,

    Its message never changing.

    I hold you close and whisper back the same,

    Now adding some words of my own.

    “You can go you can go you can go.”

    My heart is no longer silent. My heart is breaking.

    Take the pieces when you depart.

    Without you, I’ve no need of this heart.

    The memory of your love will fill the heart-shaped emptiness,

    Not quite a heart but far better than the mere organ,

    All that I had before I loved you.

  • A Tool Box For The Temporarily Insane (Poem)

    I listen to story after story depicting the beloved

    Hear again and again the desperate repeated pleas that beg

    Doesn’t this act these words that look mean I am loved in return?

    I marvel at the furious storm and the abandon of all measure.

    So many applaud this loss of control, celebrate such madness in so many ways,

    Even term it holy and divine, casting those who do not succumb as suspect and odd.

    I’ve been a listener all of my life, this same tale told many a time.

    I tried to mimic it myself but very poorly so gave up in relief.

    My impulse is to offer remedy, or at least a caution that the gaudy painted carousel

    Looks much different when the fair is closed.

    I restrain myself unless explicitly asked.

    Most only want a sympathetic ear, warm words of encouragement,

    And then a bandage for their broken heart.

    All these tools I keep on hand.

  • If You Wish These Gifts, Hurry (Poem)

    I wait for you to catch up,

    And what do I do while I wait?

    Read the books I’ve carried to give you,

    The books I’ve read until I know every word.

    Study the maps I’ve collected,

    The maps I’ve marked with all the places I’ve been.

    Examine the cups from which I drank tea,

    The cups I’ve crackled from so many steeps.

    Hasten please, though I do not mind revisiting these things.

    The day ever shortens; my journey beckons;

    I cannot remain here long.

  • You Will Remain (Poem For Debra)

    You will remain.

    When I walk the streets in the rain,

    Your silver hair tresses the trees,

    And I remember the kindness in your eyes.

    When I walk the trail in the sunlight,

    Your bright laughter glints from the rocks,

    And I remember the joy in your voice.

    Always you move in grace wherever you walk,

    And the peace that your very presence bestows

    Is the gift that you give to us all.

    You will remain.

  • Winter Sounds The Same (Poem)

    In the early morning of winter’s approach

    I feel the cold singing in my bones

    An old song that I heard when I was young

    In the rooms where elderly relatives gathered

    Easing themselves slowly into creaking chairs

    Resting their hands on knobby canes

    Warming themselves by the crackling fire

    I sat in their front on the bare pine floor

    The wind rattled the window panes and shook the door

    Trying to gain attention but no one gave any mind

    The freeze was already evident on the ground

    Its notes played out in every step they took

    In every movement I now make

  • Unready Yet (Poem)

    No grief over the knowledge

    That I’ve never seen my own face,

    Only relief.

    These images from different mirrors

    Glittering back at me

    In shop windows, photographs, and even a painting

    Are mere appearances.

    Likewise, one of my teachers suggested

    That altars only have an bare space resting

    Where the buddha would be.

    On my altar I have placed a statue of Chenrezig,

    The bodhisattva of compassion.

  • My Stubborn Teacher (Poem)

    I still say “tea” with the same guttural “chrrr” that you used

    And count the seconds to steep it using my fingers and my breath.

    When I chant, I hear your lesson on the downward emphasis

    Of “shok” at the end of a line in a Tibetan prayer.

    I find books we studied a long time ago reappearing on my shelves.

    You’re far away in another land in a home that I refused.

    Yet I find that you remain with me, as you said you would.

    Do I even want you to go away?

  • Immigration (Poem)

    What did she hear on the journey?

    The flame’s roar consumed everything that could burn.

    The soldier’s laughter made a mockery of joy.

    Her mother’s voice would never again say the blessing for taking challah.

    Her father’s whispers; the creak of the sodden ship; her silence.

    At Ellis Island the raucous seagulls wheeled overhead and cawed.

  • 1034 Vangautier Road (Poem)

    You will find the house empty

    Front door swinging on a rusted dream

    Kitchen table cluttered with broken hopes

    Furniture dusted with faded memories

    Not mine but others

    I did not take anything

    I left nothing of value

    I travel light