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| Here's a photo that speaks to my New England roots, for sure! |
I wrote this for one of my amazing "daughters-in-law" this morning. My family seems to put both work and love at the top of the list. I'm grateful!
This Pause
In another time, another country, we might know the calendar
with its weekly sabbath day within our very bones and breath:
the sweet halt of work, the pause to contemplate, to renew
acquaintance with old stories of grace and courage, accompanied
by music braided golden with emotion.
But we are grown children of immigrants, people who hold work
as salvation, strength, the sure thing to save us from the world’s
forceful fist. Our lists summon attention, effort, tasks and goals,
so the shimmer of sunlight at the window, rain’s rhythmic call,
reliable thump of the heart evades
our notice so often. Then, sister, let us reclaim this day: Let us
taste love with our coffee, savor peace with our pastry. Mothers
we are—noticing the time, the laundry, meals to plan, prepare,
all attached to the same clock that will call us back to work
when Monday circles toward us—
but this is the moment we choose for ourselves. We hold it
tenderly; we laugh at how absurd it is to “take time off” when
so much is waiting for our capable hands, our clever minds.
We hear the others waking up, know the only way to hold
joy and rest is with both hands.
Here is the Mother’s Day we didn’t plan, didn’t expect,
inner admission of how much we give … outer recognition in
a phone call, a kiss, a smile, someone’s thanks expressed.
Vital intention: We choose our lives. We sweeten our own
celebration. We sing.
BK
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