City Silence


Mindful Poetry Gathering - November 2021

Posted November 22, 2021 in News Articles

This month for Mindful Poetry Moments we gathered to listen and contemplate Hanif Abdurraqib's poem When We Were 13, Jeff’s Father Left The Needle Down On A Journey Record Before Leaving The House One Morning And Never Coming Back. A Mindful Moment trustee and Integrative Health Coach, Kami Lerma, opened our time with a meditation. And poet Brad Aaron Modlin led our discussion (You can read the full transcript of the event here.)

Community Response Poems

I didn’t realize it gets harder, or harder like this, in this way.
by Lauren Sharpe

Sitting at the round kitchen table, once less scuffed and dinged and sticky than it is now, my neighbor Judy vacuuming the floor above me and isn’t it a wonder she doesn’t just fall through, the way this old building tilts? Judy vacuuming her floor above me for probably no one, Judy tidying her kitchen slowly because she moves slowly and one day sooner rather than later I will be moving that slowly, I will be moving slowly up the stairs of this building, having lived thirteen years inside it now. I will be ascending to the enlightenment that comes from just being alive for so long. And 43 isn’t forever, isn’t anything to sneeze at either, but I’m old enough to remember the pattern on the linoleum kitchen floor of the second house I grew up in, the home with the big glass globe above the stairs on a dial that dimmed, the one with I get to light the candles when company is coming, the one where downstairs, my mom cooked the turkey upside-down in it’s bag and it turned out more delicious than right-side-up. I could go on. I could go back. Little flames dancing, a candle lit for someone, for me, for Judy, for my mom who I’m missing already even though she’s still here. Click-zip goes the lighter, the magic match. Judy climbs the stairs slowly, lets me and the girls go ahead of her, pass her on the stairs while she takes her time.