Sunday, September 20, 2020

Perhaps the World Ends Here

 Today was a day for looking through and deleting old 'bookmarks' on my computer There's a lot! It seems that my early days online, held enough excitement, that I wanted to hold onto it all! 

Things I thought I'd never want to forget, but really never much returned to. Teaching ideas, cloth worlds, writing activities and more all right there, just where I'd left them.


I found this jewel.

 

Perhaps the World Ends Here

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

"Perhaps the World Ends Here" from The Woman Who Fell From the Sky by Joy Harjo. Copyright © 1994 by Joy Harjo. Used by permission of W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., www.wwnorton.com.
Source: The Woman Who Fell From the Sky (W. W. Norton and Company Inc., 1994) 
 
 
 
This spoke to me of how now, in this time, we come to each other's table in the world of blogging and how touching that is and has been, especially now, and especially in light of Jude's typepad troubles (posted about today)...where we feel how inpermante these places and our time really is.
 
To hear the spoken version go here 
 
To get information on this book go here 
 
To learn more about this author go here 
 
 
 
I notice how her book title aligns with my reading of Braiding Sweetgrass, wherein the first chapter is Skywoman Falling. 
 
May you make new discoveries out of the old
May you allow yourself to be embraced by the stories
May you find a place at the table, amongst others.
xo 
 

10 comments:

Ms. said...

7:22 a.m. Sunday September 23rd 2020 Do not save this. How right you are. I too have a gazillion bookmarks and photos all stored somewhere in here and yet, I can never find precisely what I'm looking for when I want it anyway. This morning that mouse has returned. I'm sure it is the same mouse the Super patched holes about back in May and I think I've seen it once or twice in June. I sprang into action but it's gone into the walls somewhere. What action could I take really. This old place is full of holes and gaps and all food is kept in hard plastic or glass. Still, a place a mouse likes to visit. Not very poem worthy, yet a poem in and of itself.

Meanwhile dear one I'm grateful to come to you this morning and write it down. There's a strong relief in the blog world of friends. One is not alone for the moment. I love Joy Harjo and that poem in particular. Thank you dear one. I spent all of yesterday and deep into this morning obsessed with Ginsburgs death and the Washington vultures circling. I hardly slept. Perhaps now, a little nap.

Liz A said...

"our dreams drink coffee with us"

read as I sip my second cup ... and yes, so much begins at the table ... then continues

grace Forrest~Maestas said...

you could not have put words of more great intense VALUE to me
this morning....
Thank you....it's a kitchen table. Yes. OUR kitchens tables.
oh...Love to you

Nancy said...

Michelle~ Oh, photos are a whole other subject! Many of the links were forgotten places, some interesting, many no longer existing. I have many, many more to go through.
Mice, difficult, yet perhaps a poetry of their own, as you say...maybe make them more bearable? And I thought you would either know her poetry well or like a small introduction, for I think of you when it is poetry I am seeing.
I too am so grateful for this world of blogs, for however long that lasts.

Liz~ Yes, I noticed that line too. What an image it conjure up!
I have probably mentioned this long ago, or many times...but, I once saw a photo essay years and years ago,that showed a girl, through her still young lifetime, sitting at various kitchen tables. You could witness her growth, her changes through the years, along with the changes of that "kitchen table", from different decades, different locations or perhaps remodels. Her legs moved through right up on the chair to dangling down, to firmly on the floor - head cocked, eyes practically rolled in her teenagehood. You could tell the era by that kitchen (especially the 1970's!). I was so fascinated with it, sent it on to my own daughter when my first grandson was still little...and have thought of it ever since. I have even tried to search it out here online, to no avail.
Yes, much begins at the table. :)

Grace~ Yes, our tables. I thought of you, at a table not your own, for the moment...but there and welcoming and here at our tables always. xo

Mo Crow said...

beautiful poem!

Nancy said...

(((Mo))) Yes

Deb G said...

This felt like coming full circle with an idea for me this morning as I made a comment on my blog about a turtle button and earth before coming here. :) And I will be copying this one in to my journal.

Nancy said...

Deb~ I left you a comment there. This one is a keeper! xo

Hazel said...

"May you be embraced by the stories" love this, and this post, oxo.

Nancy said...

Hazel~ So glad! Love to you.