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This piece was inspired greatly by the horrors of the tornadoes that leveled miles of life in this Kentucky and neighboring states, killing over 100 people.  The grief I and so many feel, I dare say, was akin to 9/11, but we cannot move an army against Mother Nature or God, leaving us with grief…and some anger.  Thus came forth this poem…

** Lessons Beyond Anger **

Things, mostly, draw out my ire:
Like blankets when my feet snag
   As I try to push down under;
My embroidery thread threader
   As it refuses to pierce through
   The eye of the needle;
My pens or markers, set to a sketch
   As I see their ink running dry;
My glasses, scissors, keys, or diary,
   As either or any tries to hide;
Aways, my iPad,
   As I tap and tap and nothing happens;
Also, then, of course about…Myself…
   As words go lost on my tongue’s tip;
   As hands are too weak to open things;
   As my vision fogs what must be seen;
   As my legs refuse to stand longer;
   As my spine denies commands to sit;
   As my heart scrambles to handle huge
       Moments of grief;
   As my soul goes consumed with moans
      For the world, for humanity,
      For the sufferings
  Of injustice, war, 
         Natural disasters…and, too,
      Of the persecution of Christ;

For my lips, murmuring such impatient,
   Reactive curses before
   My better self and thoughts 
   Are called to reign.

It could be why I often lean 
   To my relationship with trees,
     — with which we share 90% DNA —
For while the strifes of this life
Move me to snarl when my feelings,
   Like twigs snapping, descend
   To annoy the grass below.
Still, it is the more disturbing storms
That cause my trunk to brace,to creak,
So scars will mark my inner core, on my
Rings — entries in my life’s history —
Of the outstanding times of wounding,
   As strokes visible on my portrait,
     More than merely annoying, yet
     Causes of my snarling, of injury,
And piling more stones over my roots:
— Roots born innocent, beyond anger —
Before the forces of storms’ aches,
Until I realize again, once again,
That the sky is the crown of my longing:
The heavens,
The destination of all
Eagles taking flight from my branches,
…And I must grow higher than anger,
   Which seeps below my feet
Into the crust of the earth,
   Inspiring no flowers or song to rise.

————————————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young Eslinger 12/12/21
Thanks be to God
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