All for You, Honored Ones
The teacher Dongshan was washing his bowl by the river and saw two crows fighting over a frog and tearing it apart. The student asked, “Why does it always have to be like this?” Dongshan answered, “It’s all for you, Honored One.”
First the monk asks
“Why does it always come to this?” Then the teacher
“It’s all for you.”
The steps of the medieval church
Malachite of the Mediterranean
Below, the bridal party
Gathered. It’s all
For you.
The child limp and lifeless
Another beach, the Mediterranean
Cobalt. The sky cloudless
Pitiless. It’s all
For you.
Locked in our homes
Fearing the faces
Of friends, others. Fear
On the faces, hidden
Behind the new plague masks.
It’s all for us, Honored Ones.
One day, we are the Frog
Feeling our joints torn
The body opening to
A heartless world
The place of no belonging
An alien inside our own
Skin, a refugee,
Ripped from home.
Or today, we are the Crow
Ravaging, tearing to pieces
Others, remaking them into food
For infinite need, boundless greed.
An invader, the conquerer carrying
Chaos and terror like a torch.
It’s all for us, the Honored Ones.
Hungry or hunted
Observer or observed,
Crow, frog, sapien, or oak,
We are the Honored Ones
For whom Life presents.
Life in its many guises
Including Death, fire
Joy and change. All for you,
Honored ones.
All.
Izetta
Today, in a coffee house that
They say Mozart used to frequent,
Izetta, who must be at least sixty years
Dead now, sat across from me.
She had the same round, wondering and confused
Eyes I remembered from my childhood.
She rocked and rubbed
Her hands along her thighs
Not to warm, but to soothe.
She greeted the waiters
In a voice too loud for
The murmur of this august
Setting of wondrous pastries
And great coffees.
The staff greeted her by name,
Touched her arm with tenderness
Affection for one familiar
And beloved. I remember
How my nana’s green frieze couch
Was Izetta’s familiar and friendly
Place, how she escaped the cruelty
Of the young who found her
Sweet slow mind a source
Of amusement for their mean
Tricks. I remember the patience
The kindness of my grandmother
Her home always a welcome
Refuge, a certainty of acceptance.
So, when I saw her today,
Showing up in Salzburg
All these years later
I felt that tenderness, that
Kindness that safe place
Inside myself, the refuge
My grandmother taught us
To build for the world’s unwanted
A Dinner Party
Misha, who has invited Fidel Castro worries
That I, the host, will seat him next to
My guest, Leon Trotsky, which is my plan.
Simone de Beauvoir, invited by Ilona,
Holds captive and captivated a
Dusty, hungry Richard Leakey, Numa’s guest.
Freud pushes back his chair to light
His pipe, which greatly irritates
Beethoven, who is easily irritated.
Numa wanted Freud seated by Madame Blavatsky,
Believing some lively conversation and conflict
Could ensue. But Blavatsky bores him.
Karl Marx yawns, finding
The company decidedly tedious, with all
the misinterpretations of his intentions,
But seeing Isadora Duncan wishes
He was handsome.
The coffee and dessert delight, despite
The late hour and the graves that await.