Yes
for Chris & Bruce
I could have been dancing tonight,
night of bubbles, noisemakers, paper hats,
and faux good cheer. But here I am,
shoeless and sober as a cobblestone,
sipping the champagne of contemplation.
Four hours to midnight. The spirits of Tara,
Jizo, and Avalokitesvara shimmer
in the air like moonlight on snow. Here
in the spangled silence of this house, I inhale
clarity. On this foggy last day of 2002—
year of the warrior women of Nigeria
armed only with courage and dignity
who said no to Chevron—
year that Bali, land of people who dance
when they walk, was bombed—
year of the burgeoning battle drums—
I exhale ill-will. Witnessed by these sisters
and brothers on the cushion who sit steadfast
as oaks despite sore knees and sleepiness,
I intend “a cup o’ kindness” for the noisy
neighbor, the tailgater, faithless lover,
the ignorant and the gnarly, for fat cat
corporate profiteers, hatemongers and hawks,
for my own magnum of fissures and failures.
Before these candle flames that flicker like doubt,
like waving so long to the old and hello
to the wild and hallowed new—I resolve not
to marry my opinions, not to turn away
from the dragons at my doorstep, not to covet
dark Belgian chocolate, except once in awhile.
And “should auld acquaintance be forgot”
I vow to remember and cherish the luminous
bell of here and now
and yes.
©Lucy Aron, 2003
