By Catharine Lucas (Berkley Friends Meeting)

Submitted by Ravenna Helson

This great fatigue does not yet steal my taste for life;

I am still tight-bound to earth by all the dear delights:

            Warm sun on my shoulders, fresh breeze on my cheek,

On my tongue, the tart sweet of dried cranberries;

            Before my eyes, three maples, new-green, dancing in

                        soft blue spring breezes,

            Zinging past my ears, buzz loud as kamikazes, fat black

bees (their wish to avoid collision as great

as mine—I need not stir.)

For this one moment, defined by fatigue, not yet despair,

I hold my place with practiced patience and all-encompassing thanks

            Even for the sound of distant traffic, its rhythmic,

                        Whispered roar like surf, absent all demand;

            In my body, long-delayed rest, now fully welcomed,

eases tension from my jaw;  slack

                        shoulders surrender all that makes me

                        admirable or even just reliable.

I am newly bereft of curiosity;

Gone the lust for news, the imperative to understand.

I am content simply

to attend. To appreciate. (Might these serve

in place of knowing?)

I refuse to be bullied by “ought” and “should”—although to

Refuse takes all the effort I can muster. Habit almost compels

me to apologize, but I return instead

to this sweet emptiness, which holds me safe, though

I cannot, in turn, keep hold of it.

I don’t imagine I can maintain, unwavering, this

attentive appreciation, nor remain in every future

[bereft of sight or hearing] so glad as this

to be alive.

Free of all promise,

I will come in, now, out of the sun, and let this moment go.

Lie down in gratitude for my pleasant bed that welcomes me

even in bright day. I need not wait for night.