Second Snow

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

It wasn’t the first snow of

the season, the second, but

it called for at least as much

reverence, for all the attention

one could give to it.

It started in the night,
greeted the morning, and wanted

the day as its own, and took

it in silence and prettiness. The dark
tree skeletons held it up, turning

themselves into many-winged

angels, revealing their true nature

to those who can utter something

more whimsical and deeply honest

than, “It is snowing!”

On days like this, I want to find my

way back to all the snows I’ve seen,

and all the people who were there
too. There are conversations that

never happened under that thick

white blanket, but there was
laughter too, and that unique familiarity

that snow brings, much the way that the
moon brings familiarity, and the darkness,

and the sun and stars, though somehow we humans

still remain lonely. Often. I want to gift questions

about loneliness into the world; how we came

to abandon the good company of magic and

retreated into the world of rationalized noise. But,

not now. Now, I want to let myself be claimed

by the beauty of the snow – the second snow – because

I’ve already found the answer.

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

Published in Conversations with Mary: Words of Attention and Devotion

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The Soft Animal

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

The soft animal of my body loves the deep

cup of the nest, but also the edge of the nest,

and the nothingness that is everything on the

other side. I am not built to love one thing or

one way, or limit myself to loving one world.

What is too small must be broken through or

left behind. At times, I’ve needed to do both.

Right now, right now, I just want to sit with

the last moment, the one, the last one, before

I completely let go.

(c) 2016-2020/Jamie K. Reaser 

Published in "Conversations with Mary: Words of Attention and Devotion"

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In the Woods

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

I take long walks in the woods, usually up and down mountain

slopes. Usually, alone. Alone in that I’m not in the company

of another human. I’m never alone, really. I’ve known this since

I was a little girl in braids. The forest is such good company. It 
can hold you in ways that people can’t, even those who would 
want to. You can be invisible there, yes, but you can also be 
seen. I think this is important, this being witnessed. I think we 
have forgotten about it, witnessing. It is a testament and a salve. 
It used to be initiation. All the while the birds are singing, we 
miss it. On the branches of the trees:

“I see you. See me.”

Instruction.

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

Published in Conversations with Mary: Words of Attention and Devotion

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As the Storm Begins

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

You know the storm is coming, it’s been in the news for days.

“A big one,” they say. “Blizzard!” But, there sits this little brown

bird, a winter wren, appropriate as that may be, atop a lovely

candelabra of crimson sumac berries. The first big flakes have

settled upon him. There’s something magical about that.

Something wonderful. You’ve been rushing about doing chores,

bringing in wood, filling buckets with water. He meditates.

What is it that you have not yet learned?

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

From "Wonderment: New and Selected Poems"

(A work in progress)

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Mockingbird in Winter

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

All winter, Mockingbird, in his steel-gray

suit, perches atop the tangled thicket of

multi-flora rose, swallowing bright red

rose hips and awaiting the next blessed moment,

brief as it may be, when the sun stirs

a drowsy insect awake and into a fine death.

It’s a rather odd thing to watch him in silence,

mine and his. We both have so much to

say, and hearts that have forgotten need translators.

I wonder about words pulled from the voice of

the world and words pulled from within.

Are they so different?

You give us the instruction:

“Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.”

I’m sitting with that, as the mockingbird sits not

far from my window pane, fluffed and

elegant, and fully aware that I am watching him.

And, maybe too, he knows that I am wondering.

It can be hard to speak without contempt for

this self-led world, but he does it all summer long.

And, I try my best.

What is it like to shake off shell fragments and

become the great celebrator of life?

~

I think the mockingbird needs another name.

And, I want to tell it to the world.

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

Published in "Conversations with Mary: Words of Attention and Devotion"
Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

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The Pale Mists

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

We must have been two of those old poets of China. I remember

being in good company, sitting on a rough-cut bench, smoking 
long pipes through streaming grey beards, high in the 
cloud-cloaked mountains. They say that masters come in many 
forms. For us, I think that it was the pale mists. How they taught 
us to see what we couldn’t see. How they taught us to write 
about unspeakable things.

© 2016-2020/Jamie K. Reaser

Published in "Conversations with Mary: Words of Attention and Devotion"

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So This is Fear

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

“So this is fear,” I say when the stand is taken.

“So this is fear,” I say when the next stand is taken.

Have you ever seen love take a stand?

Kneel. I have seen love kneel.  

© 2016-2020/Jamie K. Reaser

Published in "Conversations with Mary"

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