Guitar pick

 

 

Prayer for Revolutionary Love

 

” That a woman not ask a man to leave meaningful work

to follow her.

That a man not ask a woman to leave meaningful work

to follow him.

 

That  no one try to put Eros in bondage.

But that no one put a cudgel in the hands of Eros.

That our loyalty to one another and our loyalty to our work

not be set in false conflict.

 

That our love for each other give us love for each other’s work.

That our love for each other’s give us love for one another.

 

That our love for each other’s work give us love for one another.

That our love for each other give us love for each other’s work.

 

That our love for each other, if need be,

give way to absence. And the unknown.

 

That we endure absence, if need be,

without losing our love for each other.

Without closing our doors to the unknown.”

—–Denise Levertov

 

 

 

 

Love Should Grow up Like a Wild Iris in the Fields

“Love should grow up like a wild iris in the fields,

unexpected, after a terrible storm, opening a purple

mouth to the rain, with not a thought to the future,

ignorant of the grass and the graveyard of leaves

around, forgetting its own beginning. Love should

grow like a wild iris

but does not

Love more often is to be found in kitchens at the dinner

hour,

tired out and hungry, lingers over tables in houses where

the walls record movements, while the cook is probably

angry,

and the ingredients of the meal are budgeted, while

a child cries feed me now and her mother not quite

hysterical says over and over, wait just a bit, just a bit,

love should grow up in the fields like a wild iris

but never does

really startle anyone, was to be expected, was to be

predicted, is almost absurd, goes on from day to day, not

quite

blindly, gets taken to the cleaners every fall, sings old

songs over and over, and falls on the same piece of rug

that

never gets tacked down, gives up, wants to hide, is not

brave, knows too much, is not like an

iris growing wild but more like

staring into space

in the street

not quite sure

which door it was, annoyed about the sidewalk being

slippery, trying all the doors, thinking

if love wished the world to be well, it would be well.

Love should

grow up like a wild iris, but doesn’t, it comes from

the midst of everything else, sees like the iris

of an eye, when the light is right,

feels in blindness and when there is nothing else is

tender, blinks, and opens

face up to the sky.”

——Susan Griffin