A Parable by Gregory Orr - NPM18

The stone strikes the body, because

that is what stones will do.

The wound opens after the stone's kiss,

too late to swallow the stone.

The wound and the stone become lovers.

The wound owes its life to the stone

and sings the stone's praises.

The stone is moved. At the stone's center,

a red hollow aches to touch the wound.

The gray walls of its body tear open

and the wound enters to dwell there.

A strangers picks up the stone

with the wound inside and carries it

with him until he dies.

Orr, Gregory "A Parable" Burning the Empty Nests. Pittsburgh: Carnegie Mellon University Press, 1997. 70.

NaPoWriMo - day seventeen

in honour of [national] haiku day, i wrote some haiku:

on the drive to work

sky aglow with wash of sun

the road a river

*

so many worries

things we hope to destroy

silence the quickly

*

your wounds are trophies

you carry in your pockets

stop polishing them

*

fear sneaks through back doors

and with a zealot’s purpose

you make it your home

*

feet are lead laden

reawaken the dance

prisoner of hope

Late at Night by Gregory Orr - NPM17

As the stone wrote, ants swarmed over its feet.

It was trying to write a story that began:

"The wound is the only cup

from which to drink clear water."

It heard a far-off singing. Turning, it saw the woman

dancing barefoot on a circle of ground glass.

It wanted its hands and its feet to drop off.

It wanted to curl up in a ball.

But then it heard her voice and she was saying:

"The wound is not a cradle to lie down in."

 

Orr, Gregory "Late at Night" Burning the Empty Nests. Pittsburgh: Carnegie Mellon University Press, 1997. 66.

NaPoWriMo - day sixteen

zeal

they thought they had the answer.

they wouldn’t allow for questions.

they silenced the writers and poets,

put the singers in cells without windows,

placed chains on the dancers’ ankles,

broke the musicians’ fingers.

all this work, all this attention,

all their missionary zeal for nought.

what result were they hoping for?

what did they believe would come of this?

perhaps they wanted to protect the heart,

prevent the soul from sicknesses.

perhaps they were afraid of carrying burdens,

passing judgement on the fruits of too much passion.

Singing the Pain Back in the Wound by Gregory Orr - NPM16

I crouch naked at the wound's edge

and call its name softly,

until it hovers over me and I am clothed

in its shadow. Then I throw ropes

over it, pulling it down into the wound

that its body fits perfectly

like a fish-shaped cork.

Its wings beat frantically. I lash them together,

fold them carefully into a black

bundle on its back.

 

Orr, Gregory "Singing the Pain Back into the Wound" Burning the Empty Nests. Pittsburgh: Carnegie Mellon University Press, 1997. 53.