{poetry friday}

SMALL KINDNESSES
~ by Danusha Laméris

I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”

I think there’s nothing like being in need of help to underscore the small kindnesses which make up the fabric of any existence – even the smile of the barista or check-out person, the nurse who ties closed your hospital gown when they get you up on your feet after surgery, the person you meet walking their dog. We are all weavers of this kindness if we let ourselves be.

{pf: the p7 try a triolet}

Ah, summer. Surprises around every corner… including the plum tree which has netted us a ten gallon bucket of plums so far and it’s still not finished bearing. And the apricots are coming ripe. As are the peaches… and the persimmons… and soon, the pomegranates… and the apples…

Did I kvetch about it being 103°F the day we moved? I stand by my whingeing, but apparently, the trees loved it. I’ll take the fruit and quit complaining now.

Our theme this month is HEAT, and our poetry challenge is the triolet – the deceptively simple form with which we’ve dabbled previously. As always, it’s one of the tougher repetitious poems for me – I feel like my timing is wonky or something – but this round, it was a bit easier. That may have been down to the discovery of a triolet generator. Having a little program keep track of your line repetitions can help you create sensible couplets (though I advise you copy to another document or don’t use the edit button; it erases the whole thing). Never feel like using any little aid is “cheating;” poetry is heart breathed into words – get your pages breathing any old way you can, bravehearts.


Sara’s gorgeous words breathe here. Here are Liz’s stunners, and Tricia’s beauties. Here are Rebecca’s radiant words, Kelly’s charmers, Laura’s lovelies, and Andi’s inspiration here. Hit that generator! Your words can breathe, too!


In the quest for one I halfway liked, I wrote a ton of triolets, but wanted to say something unique about the theme instead of “wah, wah, wah, it’s too hot,” which is the basic theme of all my summer discourse (not even kidding). Here I’ll share three which I thought spoke to the theme in the most interesting ways:

Vitally Vernal

My summer self is big and wild
Untamed, unbound: essential me
I’m barefoot, wander like a child
My summer self is big. And wild
I drift in whimsy, brain beguiled
By heated schemes I oversee
My summer self is big! How wild
Untamed, unbound, essential: me
Balboa Park 66

I am going to use the camping stove (aka the summer kitchen) for canning the plum preserves outside, but summer indoor cooking really brings on the heat, especially as I do as much as I can all at once to prevent turning on the range again…

Can I Give You A Taste?

Jammed tight with pots, our kitchen’s heat
Makes love – and meals – with hints of spice
Right in the flames – it’s hot and sweet
And jammed with pots. A kitchen’s heat
Welcomes each lover, saves a seat
For (piquant gossip) tasty bites –
Jammed tight with pots, a kitchen’s heat
Makes love – and meals – with hints of spice
Skyway Drive 318

Sara reminded us that triolets were often devotional, so I gave it a shot, playing with a traditional Christian imagery of God as artisan metalworker. I also tried for fourteen syllables to give myself some room.

Foundry

“refined by fire” vital furnace; breathe, o breath of god
be cleansed within the crucible, heart clarified by heat.
For this I prayed. Now mettle, tested, twists – a lightning rod
“refined in fire” vital furnace breathes. o breath of god
I, unalloyed, am brittle, wracked with weaknesses and flawed,
But cast and molded, forged by passion’s art, I’m made complete
refiner’s fiery, vital furnace blasts its breath – o god
come clean. within the crucible there’s clarity in heat


Netherlands 2018 419

Poetry Friday is hosted at the blog of that very, very, very busy professor, writer, and math-admirer Miss Rumphius. We’re lucky to have you, Tricia dear – happy writing retreat.