to the place between right and wrong
a free verse poem for Crucible: the stone womb of elderhood
“Whenever a society believes strongly in its own moral righteousness, superiority, or entitlement, the collective Shadow is likely to be present in spades…” — Sharon Blackie, Hagitude
Before I went in, I waited in the car
in no real hurry to go. Tiny buckeye
buds hovered above my head, yellow
sunlight grabbed at shadows on a man’s face
as he passed by in his car. Maybe I’ve hurt
a woman before. There are things I want,
like everyone. Something old is stuck in
the throat of my longing, it swells when
I’m afraid to be wrong, when I say mistakes
can never include you and disappear you
in a righteous rush, not having the grace
to keep asking how your ache was formed,
or when I can’t stand up in the middle
of conflict and say, hold on, something is
being born here. Once, I stood on a broken
column in the temple of Aphrodite like a tulip,
unafraid of being seen or judged. Bird song,
a beautiful tangle of trills came through
the car’s open window and reminded me
it was soon time to go. Study those who sing
the most, but are free from criticism or praise,
Hafiz wrote in a poem. I considered the palm
tree waving down the street, how it had waited
longer than me, to be noticed. I waved back,
knowing it’s the earth’s permission we love.
