On Vicinity
A poem
On Vicinity
Consider what surrounds you What basement history sits unopened for decades and what dusty future lies boxed alongside What you lovingly placed on your fireplace mantle and what wandered into your study uninvited What accumulated on your kitchen counter and what was left in your bed by the one you loved What elementary art displays in your stairwell studio and what gift you have that hangs abandoned in your mind What living room furniture sits perfectly positioned and what empty space waits above each cushion What contrarian idea rests unread on your coffee table and what knowledge stirs deep in your gut What promise you planted in your backyard garden and what when you enter brings unbridled joy What ruminating thought spins in your head and what arms will embrace your pained chest What you see and rest your gaze upon and what is envisioned when a tender gaze pierces you What stone path leads where you thought you would go and what regret will appear when you go there What you know you must do instead and what is already surrounding you What you are and what will take you there
Thank you for being here. Please leave a comment about what strikes you, speaks to you, or stirs in you while you read. I look forward to whatever dialogue happens here, and within a week I will be following up with a Reflection post on how this poem emerged into being.
In addition, a new side of Poetry & Process was just announced, entitled Memory. This will be built around a community that desires to live with poetry as a companion in their everyday life, developing this companionship by memorizing poetry together. You can read about this launch in the recent post, Announcing: Memory. Memory begins in one week on Sunday, November 12. It is a new benefit for paid Poetry & Process subscribers, and I am offering 20% off through the launch!
May you find peace.
Brian
Every line resonates, but especially these:
"What stone path leads where you thought you would go
and what regret will appear when you go there"
In a few days, I'll be saying goodbye to my dad as we lay his body to rest.
It's good to have the consolation of poetry for times that are unbearably holy and tender.
I love this, Brian. Such an expression of mindfulness and a reminder that so much of what surrounds us becomes habit—we lose sight of its ability to stir our imagination, to prod our thought, to nourish our spirit. Thank you!