Poetry

The Poet As Husband

I write in a small shadowed corner
in order to bear light into the world,
though the light is not my own.
My darkness is no darkness to you
and nothing you should wish upon yourself,
but my light shall also be your light,
in which we shall see differently
but gloriously. I am not lame inside me,
no matter that I drag my foot, I have run here
through all my infirmities to bring you news
of a battle already won. Let my last breath
speak victory into the world. The race is run
and shall be run again, joyfully, and you shall
run with me, the territory opened
to us like returned laughter
or remembered childhood. Remember,
I was here, and you were here,
and together we made a world.

~ David Whyte ~

What It Means To Be Wet

For years now I’ve stood
along the edge of this river.
The shallow water shifting over
pebbles and sand, playing
games with driftwood and fallen leaves.


Watching, wading,
here I’ve learned part of Her story.


But sometimes - when no one is looking -
I’ll lay down
and pretend that
this
is what it means to be wet.


As I lay here, submerged,
I hear Her whisper from
further out.
Her long, cold fingers invite me
to deeper waters,
yet I still hold
to roots and branches
along the shoreline.


I have sometimes believed it to be enough -
this hesitant immersion -
though, in truth, I cannot call it
surrender.
Her wells run deeper
than my willingness in wading
has ever shown.


Today, instead of clinging to the rocks,
I’m letting go.
Look for me in the ocean -
I’ll be learning to swim.


West Latta - 2009