Archives for posts with tag: empathy

The Ultimate Empath

How does He do it?
How does He scoop up
the weight of a world’s worth
of pain, with tenderness
and perfect presence— and not
lose a little part of Himself
at the sight of us?

Fashioning His arms
into a mammoth cradle,
His tender lullaby sends
the clouds adrift, dishevels
the tops of oak trees,
weaves a sliver of morning
light between our curtains,
pins a gleaming crescent
of moonlight in our sky—
some kind of divine analgesic
in faithful doses,

until at last we fall asleep,
just as we are, just as we always are
and can only ever hope to be:
surrendered in the moment
to the sufferings of a fallen world,
to grief that shatters,
anguish that nips away
at our birthright of joy
like a famished street dog,
but in the end, still knowing
that Someone knows all about it.

Claire Juno, © 2017

Empathy

Be me for an evening.
Take this cup of soup
from my hands,
and slip on my old
red shoes.

Send prayers floating
up up to the fading sky,
Watch them drift to the
south with the clouds,
unredeemed.

The hydrangea and peony,
the withering fragrance
of Monday’s roses,
the spade stuck in a
vacant bed of dirt—

silent witnesses
to this nightly occupation,
my solitary journey
from here to just there,
a pacing tiger swishing
at the sunset and its insects,
restless for any promise
in the leaves,
the shadows.

But there is nothing here.

Claire Juno, © 2016