Poem of the Week, by Ruth Foley

Last week a friend of mine died, a fellow writer and colleague I worked alongside for many years. The outpouring of grief on our listserv was unprecedented, even though her death wasn’t unexpected – she had struggled for years with kidney disease and, at the end, cancer. Beyond that, Donna lived and coped with severe bipolarity and the side effects of its treatment for her entire adulthood. Life gave her few breaks, but she lived with such devotion and profound kindness toward everyone she encountered. The day she died, I went for an hours-long hike in the canyons to think about her in silence. Her greatest gift, to me, was the gift of time, and by that I mean her undivided attention. When Donna was talking with you, there were no distractions, and she took as much time as was necessary (which is probably why she was often late.) I have spent days trying to think of the right poem to send out in her honor. This one kept coming back, maybe because, in the face of her illnesses, she kept having to reconfigure and recalibrate and reconsider her life. And she did it with such grace.








The Cracking Place

– Ruth Foley


Here’s the new rule: Break the wineglass

and fall towards the glassblower’s breath.

      —Rumi

 

If the old rule was to fight the shattering,

or to cry over the milk puddling across

the table and to the floor, become instead

the milk. Seek the table edge and come

to an agreement: without me, there is

no you. When I fall, you cease to matter.

So you are no longer contained, except

within your own arced boundaries.

If the old rule was to loose the slowly

straining curve, wonder in the patience

of cooperating with the air. Give yourself

to the waft of a lazy fan and you will

find your own edges shrinking as your

helplessness dries. The table will be

big enough once you stop fearing

the brink. Once you determine your own

thirst, and choose not to drink. After all,

it was the thirst that got you here, not

the breaking. Not the fall. When we get

what we wanted, we begin again. Find

the cracking place. Find the thin veneer.

Remember that the edge cannot exist

without your teetering flutter. Make

your pact. Break the glass. Break another.

For more information about Ruth Foley, please click here.



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