Saturday, May 26, 2018
Iris––poem by Dorothy
Iris
No matter how many times
I tell myself
That things will be all right,
That everything happens for the best,
And that all is perfect just as it is,
Some strange anxiety remains,
An inky beast lurking
At the bottom
Of a dark well.
We can, of course,
Hold hands and sing hymns
As the sinking ship goes down,
Arrange the chairs
Into a more acceptable order.
Even though I have been informed
That all is going in the right direction,
That we are headed toward enveloping brightness,
The realm where issues no longer exist
And we are one with all that is,
Still there is the feeling
That nothing is guaranteed,
Things could go
One way or another
According to the whims
Of the time,
That the rescuer will not
arrive as promised,
That dust will be the answer
To our prayers,
Our supplications
To “whoever it may concern.”
Yet I hang on,
stay steady,
hovering between two outcomes,
waiting to see
what comes next,
listening to my heart
as it beats toward
its own yet unseen end.
Today the iris were in bloom
everywhere,
telling me something
I longed to hear.
Yet I hang on,
stay steady,
hovering between two outcomes,
waiting to see
what comes next,
listening to my heart
as it beats toward
its own yet unseen end.
Today the iris were in bloom
everywhere,
telling me something
I longed to hear.
Dorothy Walters
May 21, 2018
