Things Talking

For Poet, Joy Harjo's birthday.

I took a masterclass on poetry with Joy Harjo, the first Native American US poet laureate. Today (May 9) is her birthday.

She said, “Everything has something to say.
The trees, the sky, your shoe … but you have to listen.”

I listened and things were talking. A LOT.

The coffee pot, the heater, the cabinets, the comforter, my robe, the fern, the cracks in the floor, were all were chatting when I listened…
The coffee pot had an Italian accent and said, “Whatta about soma biscotti?” The heater’s voice was rising , you won’t need a blanket TONIGHT.
The cabinets were pointing out that there are still a few Oreos left… maybe you should eat one. Have two.

Where once there was silence, there was a cacophony of conversation because I was listening.

My attention turned to outside; the talk was louder because it was raining. Every time a car went by it said, sssssssshhhhhsses, which in car language means “yes.”

The cars were saying, “Yes.” The yeses came and went… but nothing stayed yesss for long.

Then, I asked questions I wanted answered with “yes.”

• Will the divisions that have split us stop soon?

• This hate will subside, won’t it.

• Will the cost of gas go down?

There was a sudden absence of “yesss”

Then the cars started to come again, but this time they said, “wisssh … wisssh .. wisssh..” (which in car language on rainy days means…” wish”)

A truck said, “Get out of my way”… and a bus said, “Same old routine, day after day.”

The rain itself started talking, I listened, “Yesss, is not the answer to your impossible questions, that’s just your wisssh, Listen closely… the cars aren’t saying yesss, and they aren’t saying wisssh. They are saying thisss too shall passsss – the rain, the darkness, the conflict.

Yes, this too shall passss. Think about it. Those cars on a rainy street? They’re just passing by. The thought you’re thinking, the pain you’re feeling, the tumult of the world. These too shall passss, and then whatever comes next, that shall passss too.

But the peaccce inside of you? It’s here to stay.

When I read this poem, I feel the sadness of our divided world and then I remember the power of the world we create inside. It’s there that I hear the word “peace.”

Jill