Make the brushing of your hair a prayer, every strand its own voice, singing in the choir on your head. As you wash your face, the water slipping through your fingers, a prayer: Water, softest thing on earth, gentleness that wears away rock.
Making love, of course, is already prayer. Skin, and open mouths worshipping that skin, the fragile cases we are poured into.
Pull weeds for peace, turn over in your sleep for peace, feed the birds, each shiny seed that spills onto the earth, another second of peace. Wash your dishes, call your mother, drink wine.
Making love, of course, is already prayer. Skin, and open mouths worshipping that skin, the fragile cases we are poured into.
Pull weeds for peace, turn over in your sleep for peace, feed the birds, each shiny seed that spills onto the earth, another second of peace. Wash your dishes, call your mother, drink wine.
Ellen Bass's fourth book of poems, The Human Line, was published by Copper Canyon Press in June 2007.
I found Ellen's poetry on line today. I asked her if I could share some with you. She was happy to have you read her work. These are just a few stanzas of her poem which is avaliable in its entirety at her web site, along with a few others.
So I have been thinking about this poem today. Yes, the Zen of feeding the birds, making love, or washing our hair is a prayer, so certainly the movement of a brush across our canvas is a prayer, as is the thought behind it. Make art, make a prayer for Peace. It’s all good.
This piece is another of my collages from last year’s International Collage Exchange.
