Fall
 
Baklava
 
La Madrugada
 
Oatmeal
 
August 4th
 
Where are you going?
 
Sunset Trail
 
Richie
 
Ancestral Crimes
 
Peaceful Here
 
First Day
 
Early Morning Prayers
 
Feline Wisdom
 
Urban Spring
 
Yellow Canyons
 
Edge of the World
 
Silver Weaver
 
Grace
 

 
That Wild Thing 

So often, sitting at my desk in my warm office 
with my calendar at hand, 
I wonder about life with no schedule, 
no meetings, 
no deadlines, 
no clocks. 

How does it all work? 
How does it run?

Don’t we all want to know 
that part of ourselves that has 
no schedule, 
no clocks, 
no to do list?
That wild part that is free of 
thank you notes, 
business meetings, 
train schedules, 
gas meters, 
diapers, 
laundry, 
cleaning?

It is a place that is wide and open 
where the lion runs, 
below the hot Sahara sun, 
yellow mane flying behind him, 
warm wind licking his face. 
It is where I want to run, 
run with the beasts who know life 
through the growl of their stomach 
or the achiness of their bones, 
not from the desktop calendar 
dotted with blue and yellow meetings 
lined up next to one another 
day after day with no space for a long inhale 
or a stiff cup of black tea 
taken under the redwood tree in the back yard.

Isn’t this what we all want? 
Isn’t it what our bones and marrow call for
from the jungle within? 
“Come play with me, 
come run along the ocean’s edge, 
build castles in the sand, 
paint pink polka dots on paper for no reason.”  

I glance down at the timer, 
the clock telling me how much time 
I have left to write. 

But the truth is we never know.
 How much time we have left , 
that is– to breathe, 
to love, 
to walk amidst the pear trees, 
to smell the salty ocean mist, 
to kiss your lover with an open heart. 

We never know. 
It could all so quickly be wiped away, 
like a gnat on a windshield, gone in a second. 

So I say throw out the clocks, 
burn the timers, 
find the rhythm with no watch, 
no schedule. 
Watch your dog, 
your cat, 
your child. 

They know.

 

 Diane Sherman   /   March 2008