I have been so frustrated trying to keep a blog site going, along with pages that I can manage for poems and occasions and links for my books. The technology drives me crazy and the aesthetics are so hard to get right, particularly when mine change all the time, so moody and capricious. But I've been inspired by friends whose blogs show up in my mail and sustain me: Molly Spencer's The Stanza; Dana Guthrie Martin's Crude; Christine Potter's Writer and Poet; Sherry O'Keefe's too much august, not enough snow.
Once every few years, I start a new one. And, here I am. So here is a poem for beginnings:
Elegy for Beginnings
Tatty and crusted with sweat
believing it has already earned a good rest.
Cantankerous. Unwilling to join the horde
of sightseers sloshing in wellies through another March.
And hasn’t it rained every day this month?
A tease of sun here and there,
the copper scent of flowering witch hazel,
but no warmth,
reminding you, as it will
of every death you’ve ever tallied.
Which is always too many.
Symphonic finales resound but don’t comfort,
so how would yet another beginning bring ease
after all this distress
and blunder, wondering if you have one more
anthem inside a rosewood box somewhere,
or tucked into the satin of your grandma’s casket, mingled
in the scrape of your father’s ashes, or folded under the sodden mattress
of your ex-father-in-law’s flooded dinghy.
There is no way to end without a tear or two, endings
always break hearts, while beginnings
ransack your home while you are out of town.