Holding Our Brokenness by Elizabeth Cunningham

Dear FAR readers, here is a selection from my new collection Holding Our Brokenness, a gathering of poems. I chose these particular poems for their connection to feminism and/or religion. I hope you will enjoy them.

The Old One Speaks 

You must be unmade here
inside my grey cloak
inside my cold womb
here where the ice forms
and breaks
at the river’s edge.

What Kali Tells Me  

It’s all in the rhythm.
Falseness throws you off beat.
Rhythm renews your strength
with every step. That’s how time
becomes timelessness.

The trick is knowing
what needs to die
what is coming to birth.

All that clutter chokes
the next breath. Sillies,
by hoarding your toys
you stop the play.

Don’t hold onto the tide.
Don’t be a drag on the moon.
The wind is holding its breath
for you.

Let go let go let go.

image

Moses, Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed,
the more or less historical avatars,
sitting at a table, maybe playing cards
or counting up poker chips. how many
have killed for your religion?
how many have died? are the founders
gleeful or depressed, exalted or ashamed?

another image

and sitting nearby on boulders
next to a whitewater creek
the wrathful and merciful goddesses,
considering destruction and succor.
now and then they dance on stones
in the stream, the ancient, always new
dance of death and birth, rising
and receding. what will become
of our darling, devastated planet?
they are not sure yet,
they are not worried.    

dream

we find saint Sarah
made of mounds of river stone
blue loose-woven dress,
carbon dated, eons old.
help me remember her song   

be still

be still and if you never know god
you will hear the hummingbird sip nectar
from the hosta and watch the determined
toil of an ant in the vast world next
to your feet. you will mark the premature
fall of a hickory nut. across the field
a raven will open her throat and send
her wild resonance to your ear. all the birds
will forget you are there and go back to
bobbing and weaving, earth to branch to air  

blessed are

blessed are the bees fastened to the sunflower
blessed are the squirrels scrabbling for nuts
blessed are the monarch butterflies and the milkweed
blessed the still mornings after the traffic subsides

blessed are all children longing for their parents
blessed all parents aching for their children
blessed are those who take one step after another
blessed are those who fall

blessed are the bewildered
blessed are those who bend to pick up trash
blessed are those who make breakfast
blessed are those who can’t get up at all

those who mourn must always be blessed
blessed those with the courage not to turn away
blessed are those who share what they have
blessed the earth spinning round with unassuming grace

blessed are those who cry for help
blessed are those answer, angel, deity, dog or cat
blessed are the birds who show us the sky
blessed the hidden ones who sing  

the Buddha finally gets to me

one wing transcending
one wing embracing
suffering

I didn’t know
there were two wings

maybe I will
learn to fly

is nonattachment
simply letting go of judgment?

I still don’t get enlightenment
I am awake, the Buddha said

I am a dreamer, I answer
I like to take flight
in the dark  

what I hear

when you can’t pray
don’t

this not praying is a prayer
reach out if you can

if you touch only air
let the wind hold your hand 

hands of

god has hands, as in, we are in the hands of
god has a potter wheel and handles us as clay
sometimes in rage smashing the clay on the wheel.
pray there is also kindness in that god’s hand

the fates, all three, or however many there are, have hands
they weave with them, and when they must, snip, snip
do they use scissors or just hands to snap
the thread that’s done, hands to tie it off

someone’s hands knead the opening to the world
catch the baby, pull her from water into air.
the mother holds her baby, strokes, with her hand, the cheek
counts the toes, wipes away all the tears

someone’s hand holds the hand of the dying one
someone’s hands wash the body while still warm
before it cools to clay that can no longer
be worked by anyone’s hand, not even god’s 

if something gives you joy…

…say thank you
do not maunder on
about unworthiness
undeserving.

of course you do not
deserve good fortune
anymore than anyone
deserves ill fortune.

dessert is something sweet
to be savored.

cause and effect are real
but grace is always amazing.
there is no accountant
in the sky or under the earth,
just a tangled weave
too brilliant for you to see.

justice is something you must
love and labor for,
just because.

when injustice prevails
do not beat your breast.
just stand, like all living things
grass and trees, even if
you are laid low
or broken.

you don’t deserve to suffer
either.  

BIO: Elizabeth Cunningham. A longtime contributor to Feminism and Religion, Elizabeth Cunningham is the author of ten novels, including The Maeve Chronicles, and most recently Over the Edge of the World. Her new poem collection Holding Our Brokenness, a gathering of poems, includes selections from her four earlier collections as well as new poems. You can purchase Holding Our Brokenness at bookshop.org or at any online purveyor of books. You can also order the book through your local independent bookstores. There are purchase links to all Elizabeth’s books on her website. https://elizabethcunninghamwrites.com/