Ceremony

Years ago, I spent a summer in Oxford taking some literature seminars with other American college students. We were young enough to think that we had depth beyond the adults who taught us. In the evenings, a couple of the students would regularly sit in the common room and have long winding arguments, filled with obscure quotations. What did they argue about? I have no idea. It was just some nice word play, and it did not mean enough to take up any space in my brain. It stopped there.

Today’s draft started with another George Ella Lyon line (“Any place we gather”), and I think it stops here. For me, part of the process of writing is teasing out the difference between a poem that has roots, and one that is just some nice word play.

Every place we gather is a ceremony.

We perform the ceremony of the gathering.

We pretend it is the most important thing in the world.

We pretend that we mean what we say,

we say what we mean —

but sometimes we were just mean.

It is easier than being soft, except

when battle is done with the energy of the Creator.

When we unsheath the sword, it is divine love.

Its reach is broad and its touch is undeniable.

Even through the sheath, we see this sword shining.

We call it “eyes.”

Let nothing dim this light.