The Mystery of Meteors
August 30, 2012
After my friend Diane M. read the last two posts (Happy Birthday to Alice and And the Winner Is...), she sent me the following. It speaks to me. I’ve read it over many times these past few days. I thought you might like it, too.
The Mystery of Meteors
by Eleanor Lerman
I am out before dawn, marching a small dog through a meager park
Boulevards angle away, newspapers fly around like blind white birds
Two days in a row I have not seen the meteors
though the radio news says they are overhead
Leonid’s brimstones are barred by clouds; I cannot read
the signs in heaven, I cannot see night rendered into fire
And yet I do believe a net of glitter is above me
You would not think I still knew these things:
I get on the train, I buy the food, I sweep, discuss,
consider gloves or boots, and in the summer,
open windows, find beads to string with pearls
You would not think that I had survived
anything but the life you see me living now
In the darkness, the dog stops and sniffs the air
She has been alone, she has known danger,
and so now she watches for it always
and I agree, with the conviction of my mistakes.
But in the second part of my life, slowly, slowly,
I begin to counsel bravery. Slowly, slowly,
I begin to feel the planets turning, and I am turning
toward the crackling shower of their sparks
These are the mysteries I could not approach when I was younger:
the boulevards, the meteors, the deep desires that split the sky
Walking down the paths of the cold park
I remember myself, the one who can wait out anything
So I caution the dog to go silently, to bear with me
the burden of knowing what spins on and on above our heads
For this is our reward: Come Armageddon, come fire or flood,
come love, not love, millennia of portents —
there is a future in which the dog and I are laughing
Born into it, the mystery, I know we will be saved
From The Mystery of Meteors, published by Sarabande Books. Copyright © 2001 by Eleanor Lerman. Used with permission by the author. All rights reserved.
Learn more about Eleanor Lerman and her work.
To listen to several of her poems, visit The Writer’s Almanac web site.
August 30, 2012 at 5:01 pm
Another weeper … thanks for this.
August 30, 2012 at 5:09 pm
A friend recently sent me the same poem, Andrea, and it has been a gift. I’m thinking of you–your posts have continued to inspire me.
August 30, 2012 at 8:05 pm
I have only some idea what this has to do with the last two posts, in Diane’s mind and heart, have read it twice and will read it over and over, because knowing we are born into the mystery explains that which resonates beyond understanding.
August 30, 2012 at 8:37 pm
I like it too! It has a kind of mysterious allure that beckons, and begs one to read it again and perhaps yet again.
August 30, 2012 at 8:42 pm
thank you
August 31, 2012 at 5:51 am
sometimes we sense the mystery and are frightened – this reminds us that yet, there is mystery, but sometimes it is beautiful, and we are fortunate to be a part of it each day