Excerpts I
Settling In
And so I lift the yoke
carefully, lovingly,
and with some effort
place it smoothly, firmly
on my waiting shoulders;
where I straighten it
slowly, respectfully
until it feels
balanced and bearable
wearable and terrible
and I lift my neck
my eyes to God
above me
see God around me
know God is in me
and I limp
back to
my
life.
Lively 2009
Two weeks from now, May 12th, Kathy will have her last chemotherapy treatment, then another CT scan, after which, she will be sent to Dr. Dugan for radiation treatments. After that, she will be periodically monitored, and the doctors say if the cancer stays away for four to six months, we will know the chemo worked down to the cellular level . . . and that when it returns, we will know this chemo cocktail works and can use it again. Good news couched in dark prudence . . .
We had a hard time this week rejoicing about her living even as we had been reminded of her dying. We both agreed “and then when it returns” did not have to be a part of our vocabulary, even if part of the doctors’ . . . but I find my mind whispering it to me in the dark nonetheless, and I know she thinks of it, too.
The secret ingredient she hides carefully in her cooking is love. Kathy learned to make perfect chicken livers for me. No matter that dusting their icky gooeyness with flour is, well, icky for her—she powders their little behinds and sizzles them to perfection because her friend likes them.
Soaking Up Grief
Taking in a breath
Taking in a breath
as if all air
filled my lungs
to my toes,
I sob so hard
I cannot make a sound.
It racks me in shudders,
trembling, shivering
so hard every
inch of me
clenches
a
fist.
Completely cutting off
my breath,
I am kidnapped
Into dying.
My mind, my spirit,
lay captured, strangled
quaking in the grasp of these
merciless wails.
When finally released,
I am exhausted, spent,
feeling as if
I have exercised hard
and received a massage
after a hot shower . . .
My grief fills me with tears,
and like a sopping wet rag,
I am folded and twisted,
rung out completely
by God's own hands,
then opened flat,
and hung lovingly
in the Son
to dry.
Lively 2010
Dust
I gasp for air amid the flood of tears
Rabid breaths that show no foam . . .
This is our home!
Sobs well up inside me
So deeply , completely,
I vomit them out,
Retching, wailing
Sucks of air
That exhaust my body
And drain my soul.
We bag her up slowly.
I lovingly pull clothing out of drawers
Sweaters she cherished
T-shirts so clever
She had to beam
Every time she pulled them
Over her ample breasts,
Others that mark
Everyplace we’ve ever been
(and every size she ever was!)
some of them so precious
so painted with memories
of her, of us,
I put them back in the drawers
Priceless art to me,
Soft, secret, silent
Souvenirs of a sweetheart.
And the twenty-year-old
Skinny frail little
Tiger cat Abby
Who spent every evening
For twenty years
Curled above her head
On the back of the couch;
Who watched
I don’t know
How many
Episodes of
Wheel of Fortune
And
How many
Matches of
Jeopardy;
Who never had
Even one chance
To answer a
Single question;
Yowls and yowls and yowls
Mournfully, incessantly
All day long
And into the night
And early every morning
Crying for a lost love
On which to rest her
Weary bones.
And I . .
I watch her carried out
In bags and boxes
Hauled out
Lugged out
By loving, well meaning
Caring, grieving
Family and intimate friends
I watch as her
Favorite soaps
Lotions
Makeup
Brushes
Are so much junk, now;
How her keepsakes
Are tossed in
(can’t keep everything,
for pity’s sake)
her hats
that kept her
chemo-bald head
warm in the
only winter
she had left;
and the fishing
hats she wore
the last summer
our last summer
the one we didn’t know
would be the last.
We looked at pictures
We looked at cards and
Old letters
We looked at
A life
Torn out of
Its home
Like a turtle
Ripped from the shell
And what do you
Have then?!
Only so much dead meat to
Burn
Into
Dust.
Which is in a beautiful
Too expensive blue cloisonné urn
Set loving amid
Family pictures
And beneath a picture of
Jesus.
Lively 2010
The Mourning Song: Three more verses to “The Promise”
By Beth Lively for All Souls 2010
Noblesville First United Methodist Church
In our hearts we see tomorrows
In our dreams, another day
From the time that we begin it
Waves of hope have rolled away!
In the waters of His Ocean
Many pearls lay hidden by
Casting breathes into the currents
Sending Love with every sigh.
The Seas are fairly salted
From the tears of those who grieve
Many hearts so filled with sorrow
So much healing to receive!
Tears of love are pure and holy
Giving solace and relief,
Showing all the world around us
precious strength in our Belief.
When we give ourselves to loving
As our Lord has asked us to,
we are weakened for His glory
we are shining with His Truth
We are showing only loving
When we weep for those we mourn
In our church, our hearts are lifted
Jesus Christ in us, reborn!
The death of life has swallowed my heart
And taken all my soul apart.
Pieces are scattered everywhere
Need to clean them up,
But really don’t care . . .
Don’t care about all the broken dreams,
Or memories that bleed in endless streams;
Don’t care about the jagged shards of soul
Or whether I am ever whole.
Don’t want to know ways to stop the tears,
Don’t care about up coming empty years;
The future seems like a nightmare to me,
A prison from which I will never be free.
Lively 2011
Dinner Party
Loathing is a meal
Served raw.
Hate comes
easily through the door
when Envy and Jealousy
hold it gaping open.
Rage struts to the table
on the arm of Entitlement
dressed in garish flames,
burning eyes,
and damning fury.
Bitterness stays late
to wash dishes,
then selfishly
hangs around
through the
black of night
gnawing
and sucking
the bones.
Lively 2010
Lively 2011
Pastures, Promises and Plays
Some days we are passive, listening to the wide sweeping Midwest breezes
Idly watching as time ticks off our slow deaths . . .
On other days, we are like a lightening bug who sweeps
Out over the husky soybean fields all night—Bright, natural light shining the way for anyone who follows . . .
What did we see today? Horses running over a hill free of their tethering ropes, bright colored chickens in a pen safe from coyote teeth.
Rather than arguing about whether mother
Out over the husky soybean fields all night—Bright, natural light shining the way for anyone who follows . . .
What did we see today? Horses running over a hill free of their tethering ropes, bright colored chickens in a pen safe from coyote teeth.
Rather than arguing about whether mother
Was right this time or not, it might be better to fall silent
And lose ourselves in the curved energy of a sunset made pink and magenta to embroider cobalt pillow clouds . . .
We know how many die before their time,
And how many people are married to the wrong person,
And how many children and parents are strangers to each
other.
And lose ourselves in the curved energy of a sunset made pink and magenta to embroider cobalt pillow clouds . . .
We know how many die before their time,
And how many people are married to the wrong person,
And how many children and parents are strangers to each
other.
We know what joy love brings and what great sorrow.
It's all right if we keep forgetting the way home.
It's all right if we don't remember when we were carefree.
It's all right if we keep forgetting the way home.
It's all right if we don't remember when we were carefree.
It’s all right if we cry ourselves to sleep and write the same poems over and over.
“Beth, I don't know why you talk so sage and sassy;
How you think hope will save you in the end!”
“Beth, I don't know why you talk so sage and sassy;
How you think hope will save you in the end!”
There are a lot of crazy lovers in this world full of faith in miracles,
Lots of lovesick saps who think God is holding them close,
And that prayer will be heard . . .
So many characters in this world, searching for just the right play,
And then some who have chosen to follow the One Director
and let the stage flats fall where they may.
So glad I am one of them.
by Beth Lively 2011
My Sheep
The musty warmth of their oily wool,
Their gentle consent to my presence there,
Soft and pleasant against my face,
Resting and hiding in the silk of their hair.
We had a tender familiarity,
Because I knew them and they knew me.
Allowing a child to ride on their backs,
to play with their babies,
to walk in their tracks,
The sweetness of them,
their breath on bare skin,
Off to be shorn, then back again . . .
Naked, now, but not really so,
(As soon as they’re sheered,
the wool starts to grow),
With their short nappy nubs,
they look almost formal--
like they’re dressed up for Sunday,
looking neater than normal.
Dowdy or shorn, they come close and calm
Sweet breath on my cheek, soft love to my palm.
We had a tender familiarity,
Because I knew them and they knew me.
In ways of our own, we each yearn to feel,
The love of a Shepherd for each sheep in His flock
A love that is unconditionally real,
Steady constant, a solid rock.
Jesus takes care of me just like them;
He knows me completely, and I know Him.
1/11/2012
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