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I'm a Minnesota Girl, living in the south. I tell my friends I try not to talk and think like a Yankee, but sometimes I slip up!

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

New poem from Maya Stein



enter rain

And we sat on the porch and chattered into the late afternoon,
bubbly from the run, perhaps, or whatever freedom the summer
had gifted us, the sound on the roof like a permission slip, a tiptoe tune
of ease. I realized how much weight we carry, how we clamber
through our lives heavy as old rock. It’s not our bodies that do it, but the layers
we cloak them with, doubting our own instinct for happiness. I wondered
if, in fact, age could be a molting if I let it, a sloughing off of skepticism, tears
in the stiff fabric of my own mind. The drops intensified, and I surrendered
to a riotous music, and we sat in silence for a while, both attentive and serene.
It’s impossible, of course, to start completely over, but still I felt washed clean.

~Maya Stein


Could age be a "molting"? It feels like that to me.

3 comments:

Kelly said...

This is marvelous! Even before I saw your comment about age as a "molting" I was totally drawn to that line in the poem!!

Debby said...

I loved this. My life has been heavy as old rock lately. I found myself reading this, and praying for rain even as the thunder rumbles all around.

raven said...

Quid,
An excellent poem with such evocative
images (like for instance the "molting").
Raven