Author: Elizabeth Maynard

Here is a city of empty churches
silent masses, unsung hymns
these grand ladies
once resplendent in stone
and a chorus of bright glass
now more sepulchral than salvific
It there is a living g-d
she is asleep here

My heart despairs while my head assures
there will be a place for every little thing
a home after every wandering

The tragedy is not that you 
hoped too much
but expected too little

Morning turns in on herself
all craving and fluttering
how do I love this unknown
after every other?

Whatever the weather
you call it cloudy
glasses every empty
eggs won't hatch
in every situation
you create critical mass

I am old enough to be your mother
so I remember what it was
to ride the train
on a summer afternoon
spirit lifted at each stop
doors opened to the possibility
of meeting a love
great or small

I walked each street
crossed bridges
climbed stone stairs
tripped in shoes too big
bought for a life
I thought I needed
before I knew myself
and saw through you

The tree never imagined the journey
she could only begin with rootedness
rest and winter's inward turning
and now each leaf and limb
scattered on a thousand winds
this book, that letter's love
the invitation and farewell

My body is not mine, you say
what lives and dies in me
belongs to strangers to decide
My life never mine
I must carry and tend
all who lay upon me

If you’re an alien, you’re in good company.

Alien, you're in good company

All of us here
are from somewhere else
or our people were
and their people

We only imagine
belonging to a place
or it to us

Wiser to remember
this membership in the 
family human
which knows only connection
from this moment
through the whole story of time