You don’t criticize a bud
because it is not yet a flower
or judge the speed of its opening
as too slow.
It is a bud,
nature in motion,
life in process.
And when petals first unfurl,
you don’t heap harsh words
on those virgin petals.
You wait with awe
that should all progress
according to design,
without harshness of influence
or environment—no early
frost or late freeze,
no fire or pest or disease—
that with one invisible push,
the mature bloom opens revealing
the hidden heart in all its glory.
This virus doesn’t have a brain
it does not choose to do anything
cannot decide to attack human beings
It is small, minimal even
its simple components do not determine
its place in the scope of things
Is it even living?
there is debate about that
It doesn’t have a Soul as we would define it
but does have a tiny spark, an energy potential
Whether it comes or goes
survives or thrives depends
on factors outside its control
subject to the whims and whispers
actions and reactions of billions of humans
It will die down, mutate
go and come again
a means to an end
An opportunity for us
to learn more about
From my poetic journal. From this tiny virus what have we learned, if anything, about what it means to be human? About our inter-connection with each other? What about our relationship to nature? Thank you for traveling with me on this journey!
Lake Geneva After Sunset by M D Mikus, Copyright 2016
“…even a pinhole of light
makes all the difference.”
From poem 41, “Small Hope” in my book, Thrown Again into the Frazzle Machine: Poems of Grace, Hope, and Healing. Listen here: https://youtu.be/xHtFFJ5oIpg
These words seem particularly appropriate to me right now. There is the sense of tumult all over the world, and pervasive fear is a darkness I am familiar with (though for me it was more often medical stuff). It is more important than ever to remember even a small sliver of hope. We are in this together.
This poem ends the selections from 2009. Tomorrow we start 2010, an eventful year. It is still you and me, sitting at my old kitchen table. My book is open in front of me to read—originally it was the paperback, but it’s easier with the eBook (the iBooks version is the one I am using). The house is quiet. I am grateful for your company.