Pockets of Possibility, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

Pockets of Possibility

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

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Moment, like

Sunrise into day,

Like green shoots

From dark husks,

Like yeast in bread,

Like movement

Through the dancer’s waking limbs,

Like motion in the resting

Curtains, like momentum

Into a good idea, like breath

From your whole body,

Like an octopus unfurling

From its dark lair.

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Moment, like

A child’s fingers opening

Into your hand–

To guide you to touch the kitten’s fur,

To feel the lips of the goat nibbling feed,

To feel the weight of the fork

As it lifts from the cake,

To find the stone that acts like

A talisman in the pockets

Of possibility.

 

 

 

 

 

 


 



Ocean of Praise, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

Ocean of Praise

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

It is my hope you’ve seen

Water carrying light,

Reflect on walls, ceilings, trees—

The way it dances, shimmers, like

A visible breeze rippling

Through curtains in spring,

Easing the eyes and spirit.

You know your body is

Made of water.  Think of that–

Water is in your every cell,

Carrying light, reflecting inside

On every part of you, like

A bowl filled with wonder, like

A temple touched with fingers

Of reverence, like your prayers

On an ocean of praise.

 

 

 

 


 




Inside the Inside, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

Inside the Inside

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

Inside the inside

Of her breath,

Where songs live,

And praise,

 

There is a space—

Round as the cup

Of a nightingale’s nest,

Hidden by a thicket,

Wing covered,

 

Where she lives—

This little one—

Holding the uncorruptable songs,

The unmolestable poems—

Inside, like water roots

Of lilies,

 

She sits, tracing spirals

In the sand, watched over

By Euterpe and Thalia,

Terpsichore and Polyhymnia,

 

They cannot keep her

From being invaded,

From years of her life

Being stolen,

From her innocence

Being crushed by night

Predators and shadow-

Dappled afternoon monsters,

Though they try with all

Their might to stand

Bracing against the door.

 

What they can do

Is protect the breath

Inside her breath,

Where songs live,

And praise, where poems

Sleep, like nightingale’s eggs,

Where drawings manifest, like

Treasure maps,

Where dances unfurl, like

Galaxies, where music flows, like

Ribbons and rivers,

Where rhythm lives, like

The wing-beats of every

Rising phoenix. That

They can do.  And will

Continue to do until she walks

With them to the seaside,

And points towards home.

 

 

 

 

 


 





This Body is Meant for More, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

This Body is Meant for More

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

 

It is necessary to dance,

In one form or another,

Even for a moment, alone,

Without judgment, or, at very least,

As little judgment as possible.

 

Dance over to the coffee pot,

Dance to the door, through the room,

To bed.

 

This body is meant for more

Than very nearly robotic, albeit

Necessary movements.

 

It is meant to unfold—fluid, grand,

Dramatic, slowly, curling downwards,

Rising upwards—arms outstretched–

Gathering and releasing a sky

Of a million suns.

 

 

 


 


Pockets of Solitude, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Pockets of Solitude

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

It’s easy to close your eyes

Surrounded by such stillness,

And the light from bright windows

Beyond which the day busies itself

With so many purposeful things to do.

 

It’s easy to stand in the middle of the living room

And become a winter tree, draped with a shawl

Of silence.

 

It’s easy to slip away into pockets of solitude

Where the keys to doors drifting away

Become little bird bones of a life lost

To a childhood of summer breezes filled

With fear.

 

It’s easy to let the quiet become your body,

To become as a cup in a cupboard,

A microscope in a dark closet, hunched over,

Like a monk studying spirals on vellum leaves.

 

It’s easy to never wish again, to can’t help

But noticing how fragile you are, fragile

And yet primed to become a leviathan

In the sea of your own life.

 

 

 


 


In the Rooms of Our Days, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

In the Rooms of Our Days

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

 

Snow falls, soundless,

Layering on branches, like cells

On the body, creating silence

And drapery, touching everything.

The winter wishes for nothing else

Than to build up smooth mounds

Over the ruins of sleeping seeds

And the bones of animals that passed away alone,

Giving them the kind of protection required

For secret awakenings to warmth and light—

That we all need, that we all long for

As we stay awake all winter, walking back and forth

In the rooms of our days, unable to sleep,

Unable to close our eyes and trust the spring,

Unable to remember that once

We slept in darkness, that once

We emerged from the darkness,

That once, again and again, we blossomed

Into the hands of another, that we rose up

To a welcoming sky, and that we will all, once

Again, and again, return to sleep

Beneath scrolls of silent snow.

 

 


 

 


The Root of Us All, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

The Root of Us All

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

Flowers flower from the branch,

Branches flower from the tree,

Trees flower from the ground,

The ground flowers from the earth,

The earth flowers from love’s universe,

Love’s universe flowers from many minds

And many hearts and many wishes and many prayers.

 

Minds flower from seed,

Hearts flower from fire,

Wishes flower from all children,

Prayers flower from pain.

 

You flower from me,

I flower from you,

We flower from need,

And need flowers from desire,

Desire flowers from all space,

And all time, and everything right

With the world.

 

Waves flower from the sea,

The sea flowers from longing,

Longing flowers from love once known

Calling us home,

Home flowers from hearth and bed.

 

Love flowers from our hands,

Our hands flower from our limbs,

Our limbs flower from our bodies,

Our bodies flower from union,

Union flowers from creation everlasting

Everlasting flowers from joy,

Joy flowers from need,

Need flowers from want,

Want flowers from gardens of many fragrances and colors,

Many colors flower from infinity’s imagination,

Imagination flowers from the hands of a child,

And a child is the root of us all,

All of us flower from variety’s branches,

Branches flower from the tree,

The tree flowers from the ground,

The ground flowers from where you stand,

Your standing flowers from community,

Community flowers hands opening,

Hands opening flower from pain lived,

Pain lived flowers from the bravery of a child,

And a child is the root of us all.

 

 

 


 

 





Doing Good at Life, For Mandy, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

Doing Good at Life

For Mandy

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

The willow sweeps the grass of leaves,

The autumn sends her more,

And so, she sways and tends the day,

Her life an open door.

 

The momma bear prepares her den,

Ambling through the deep,

Wide she yawns, until spring’s dawn

And hunkers down to sleep.

 

Her sleep will be the sleep of birth,

Her dreams of cubs so small,

And in that space, aglow with grace,

She sleeps and nurses all.

 

The willow shelters all who come,

Her garlands a cathedral make,

And with the wind she softly sings,

And gives instead of takes.

 

 

 


Because You Never Know, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

Because You Never Know

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

When the welcoming angel

Will spirit you away into the folds

Of the other world,

Who exactly you are becoming,

Why you love sunsets and stars,

What compassion grows in you

For the secret sorrows that haunt

Another’s heart, like lost echoes

In a cavern of lakes and rivers,

Where your reverence leads

And how it gets there,

How your cells build one atop

The other while you walk

Without spilling you to the ground.

 

It’s best to just go about your days

Singing, breathing with your whole body,

And adventuring into the questions

Until the word never finally falls away, like

The paper and string of an unexpected gift

Opened by a child who finds inside

What they’ve always wanted.

 

 

 

 

 


 



Eucharist, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

Eucharist

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

The bread blooms on the tongue,

The wine rivers through the body,

These provisions are more than enough

Until the other unimaginable communion takes place,

Believe the slow road outwards, leads

Inevitably inwards into His arms,

We needn’t worry about who we are

Or the shadows we trail behind,

Everyone—no matter what they have done

Or what they have failed to do

Is welcome, and everyone, no matter who they are

Approaches that table, trembling, like a bride.