THE GREAT REVELATION MAY NEVER COME, VIRGINIA WOOLF REMINDS ME
Instead, there are little daily miracles
The poppy petals that drift
this morning over the lawn
after winds troubled the night
and set them free—
there can be no earthly reason
(when simply pink would do)
for the raspberry peach coral tangerine
floating over this emerald sea.
Life stand still here
for the poppy petals, yes,
but also, for you – cartwheeling
across summer’s open palm,
your five-year-old self –
“Watch this!” there, in midair.
Then the old question which traverses the sky of the soul…
What is the meaning of life?
This morning, perhaps—
Honeybees in the rugosa,
hummingbirds in the petunias
(there is that pink, again!)
matches struck unexpectantly in the dark
And you, always and no longer five,
a brushstroke of exuberance
certain to fade. But look, here, now,
between the inhale and the exhale.
Brooke Herter James’ poems have appeared in Rattle, Orbis, Tulip Tree Review and other publications. She is the author of three poetry chapbooks and one children’s picture book. She lives on a hillside in Vermont with her husband, two donkeys, a mess of chickens and a dog.