I Drip Out Slowly

What essence remains in the dry grass

when it gives itself to the fire?

A single blade

before the flame

has no say.

I see You, Beloved,

in the green

at the tip of the redwood bough,

in the yellow roses

climbing up the garden arch,

but could it also be You

carving the fine lines into my face

that will deepen into wrinkles,

drawing the color from my hair?

My own aging is the flame

and You the all-consuming fire.

Title from a poem by Lal Ded, a 14th century woman mystic from Kashmir

Published by

Unknown's avatar

Mary Camille Thomas

Mary Camille Thomas is a native of Santa Cruz who is grateful to make her home on the California coast once more after living internationally and on the road. She studied comparative literature at UC Davis and received a master’s degree in library science from UCLA, which gave her a way to earn a living while making a life among books. Her poetry and essays have appeared in the Monk in the World Guest Post Series, Moving Force Journal, Presence, Porter Gulch Review, Second Wind, Sisters Singing, and The New Story, and she has completed a novel called What Lies Buried about a man reckoning with his family’s Nazi past.

4 thoughts on “I Drip Out Slowly”

  3. Struck by its poignancy, strengthened by its grace, touched by its flow and beauty! Reminded that I need to get back to my collection of poetry book. It’s been too long!

    Like

    Reply

Leave a comment