A Second Thought, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

A Second Thought

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

You have been with me

Since the beginning

Even though

I no longer remember

The first time

You filled me,

Sending me wailing

From the initial revelation.

From that moment

Until now–

I have rarely given you

A second thought.

 

You enter, touching my nose,

And lips, and then

Filter through me,

Spreading life, only to then

Disappear into my cells.

You make my chest rise and fall,

Ebb and flow, enlivening me

Over and over,

Again, and again,

Moment after moment,

Year after year,

And you do so largely

In relative silence and secret.

 

I think of you when I feel

The need to catch you,

Or hold you, or focus

On you for a guided meditation,

Or watch you ghost out

Of my mouth in winter.

 

You shimmer through me,

I know you are there,

I want you to stay,

Even though one day

You will sail out of my body

For good, onto the billowing winds,

To gently, unobtrusively,

Fill the body of another—

Another who will,

In all likelihood, hardly ever

Give you a second thought.

 

So here, now,

I think of you in as full

Consciousness as I can muster,

I feel you filling my every

Cell and vein with kindness.

Thank you for being

My friend, my guide,

My most intimate companion

On my journey

Of letting you go.

 

 


 

 

All donations go to medical bills and groceries. <3


 

 

 

 


The Gift of Seeing Our Breath

The Gift of Seeing Our Breath
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

I.
As a child, as summer slipped into fall,
And the first frost shrouded the grass in little, dissolvable crystals,
I would go outside first thing in the morning
And make my mouth into a wonder-filled O,
And breathe. And when I saw my breath
Spill wispy veils upwards into the air, like so many unfurling ghosts,
I rejoiced and ran in my footy pajamas back to my bed and covers,
To contemplate this most marvelous thing.

 

My friends and I walked to school back then,
And on the first day it was cold enough
To see your breath, every few steps
One of us would say: “Look! I can see my breath!”
And we would stop and we would see and we would say:
“That’s so cool!”

 

This morning I saw a little girl step from her front door,
Make her mouth into a wonder-filled O, and breathe.
I just caught the look of amazement in her eyes as I drove past.

 

 

II.
What a gift this being alive, this being able to see our breath,
This casting of feathery nets that needn’t catch anything into an invisible sea of blue,
This gentle launching of ships of clouds—
What a gift to live in amazement,
What a gift to be able, on the coldest of days,
To be reminded we are alive, we are warm in here,
We are message bearers sharing silken signals,
“This is mine,” we say, “and I share it with you.”
We are makers of clouds and shepherds of little flocks of adventurous sheep,
And not a single one of us breathes alone,
We share the breath of those we fear
And those we love, as summer slips into fall
And the world becomes shrouded in frost,
And coldness touches everything—pause,
Let us make our heart into a wonder-filled O
And breathe, letting our warmth spread defiantly into the cold.

 

And one day when we breathe our last
Our spirits will spill upwards in feathery spirals
And be carried on the shoulders of the breath
Of the living, and we will rise, our souls shaped like
Wonder-filled O’s, and we will slip into the arms of angels
Who will bear us back to a bed of softest down,
Tuck us in to rest, kiss our forehead
And whisper, “Rest now. Tomorrow is a new day and there is much to do,
And many people to fill with amazement. ”

 

 

 


 

 

 





All donations go to my transition and to keeping the Wonder Child Blog Up and Running.  Thank you for your support.

Resuscitation

Resuscitation
By
Joseph Anthony Petro

 

 
Spring is trying,
The trees turning into carnivals of flowers are trying,
The roots are trying,
The sky is trying,
And the robins, the hawks,
The invisible, but audible owls are trying,
So many people are trying,
I know they are asking
Their gods to try,
I know you are trying.
I only hope it’s not too late.
That I am not already dead,
That the block not letting the air
Into my heart isn’t too massive,
Too menacing to let any breath
Escape in or out. I only hope
I can trust the kiss, the passage
Of your strength and courage
Into my chest. I only hope
The breathing will catch hold
And then gradually level into calm.
And I might need to hold your hand,
And I might need you to tell me
To hold on, or to let go,
And I might need you to have me,
To not let me drift into nothingness
Once I do let go or hold on,
Whichever the case may be once
The stream of your breath begins swirling
In my lungs, and I open my eyes
And live again.
And I might need you to remind me
There is white light around me
And within me.
And I need it be OK with you that I need you.
And I might need you to be the white light for awhile
And embrace me with healing gentleness like there’s no tomorrow,
Until I rise again a new creation.
I only hope it’s not too late.
That I am not already dead.
That once I begin to feel
The warmth of your breath
That whatever it is within me that is frozen
Will begin to thaw,
Will have its own experience of spring,
And will suddenly and without shame
Blossom into a life that is alive.

 

 

 

 


 


Stop for a Moment

Stop for a Moment
By
Joseph Anthony Petro

 

 

Listen:
You never were
Anything less
Than you are now, and yet,
One day, one day sooner
Than you think,
You will be so much more.
It isn’t simply a matter of perspective.
It is more akin
To falling in love with yourself.
How can this be, and what
Does loving yourself
Have to do with anything?
Close your eyes.
Please.
Breathe in the image
Of a seed sleeping in the earth,
Hold it there a moment—
Now breathe out the image
Of a tree crowned with the sky.
Wonderful.
Now breathe in the image
Of a bird’s egg,
Hold it there a moment—
Then breathe out the image
Of a bird, in this case an owl
Gliding with a mantle of stars
Over a moonlit marsh.
Tell me:
How is a tree—sturdy
Yet swaying, rooted yet reaching,
Not an image of the earth
Loving itself into the sky?
How is an owl, a heart with wings,
Not an image of the night
Turning its head around
To look at itself in pure astonishment
And admiration?
You were once a zygote
And now you are reading this
Blossoming into your life;
You are what loving your neighbor
As yourself is all about.
You are a seed-spark growing,
Reaching, branching out as a body of light—
God’s own flame
Dancing in a hearth of flesh and bone,
And one day, one day sooner than you think,
The flame will leap from the room
Of your life and become an owl of astonishment
Perched in a tree crowned with the sky
And sleep all day in a mantle of clouds,
Waiting for the night to fall in love
With itself again, so you can drop
And express yourself in silent flight
Swathed in moonlight and a hunger
That is both holy and full of becoming more
Than you are now.

 

 


 

 

 





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