Digging for a Poem . . .

⚘   ⚘   ⚘   ⚘

. . . in the details of my life, in my inner monologue.
 
A neighbor took out my garbage.
She noticed I hadn't done it, and . . . .
In a loosened lock down, neighbors notice
what's close by and they speak from a reasonable distance,
a physical safety zone. As if we come out
of our bunkers to see who's still alive.

Surprise, surprise to notice my first thought is gratitude.
It's often a low grumble. Gratitude has replaced my inner
grumble of resentment and remembrance of past mistakes.
What was a weed in my garden turns out to be a rose.
I might be able to let go of the fear that as I age
and dementia sets in, all my anger, feelings of superiority,
and resentment will spill out, and everyone--even me--
will learn who I really am.

I just noticed an inner thank you instead of
What was she doing in my yard? It's my job . . .
and last year they snubbed me and why should I talk
to them now? Just because I called the police on them
five years ago for burning garbage in their back yard,
even though I knew better than to call police
on Arab American people. I did it without thinking.
It turned out OK didn't it? An exhale of relief.
I will not pick that flower but allow it room to grow.

Gratitude is revolutionary. I am happy to live where 
police assume good unless proven otherwise;
where the police know respect and de-escalation.
No one needs to act from dis-empowerment--not old,
young, white, black, Latinx. We are lucky.
But why is it luck and not the lay of the land?
It isn't that hard to feel gratitude instead of meanness,
to chance meeting God in other people.

Gratitude. Deep, deep earth, a moment located just outside
that is always the center of the world and never the center
of anything: What we do, what we learn walking around
our neighborhood.  We make room for each other. Gratitude.
I am one of the few white people. At times I try to see me 
through the eyes of neighbors unlike me.

Excuse me. Where's my Words with Friends partners?
Excuse me, I have to go and play a few rounds before 
I think about one more serious thing.  To think, to write, 
to live, to take a fun break, to pray.

Words With Friends takes me to Facebook time.
I get hungry for it just as I do for communal silence.
It is way too noisy in my home today with drive-by
graduations everywhere, and all the words in my head.

Happy Graduation Seniors!
I'm going outside to wave to them.
And then I'm going to put the garbage cans away.

 

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FYI:  The inner monologue is overactive mind/heart/body/spirit.  It is not "the still small voice of God."   I have to move through a meditative stillness to have any chance of that.  I also have to listen to others.

Internal Monologue (XKCD)

  © 2020 Susan L. Chast