Mindful Poetry October Gathering

This month we gathered to listen, contemplate and respond to Natalie Diaz's poem "Of Course She Looked Back." We were joined by Troy Bronsink of The Hive, who led the opening meditation and Manuel Iris who led the poem discussion and response. We are incredibly grateful for the vulnerability and presence in sharing these powerful poems below, written to the prompt "I didn't close my eyes when.."

Mindful Poetry is a collaboration between The Well and On Being. Gatherings are supported by The Hive, The Mercantile Library and WordPlay.

Community Response Poems

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by Geralyn Hoxsey Sparough

I didnt close my eyes when
you cornered me in my building's entry
I opened them, and my heart,
wider, praying all the while
I looked at you

I saw you
I listened to you
even though in your desperation
were willing to hurt me —
you threatened to rape me
or shoot me with the gun in your pocket —
you didn't

I disarmed you with being seen
I defused your anger with the balm of interest
you left with my five dollars and seventeen cents
and a thank you
I didn't close my eyes for three days afterwards.

Vigil
by Susan Etherton

I didn’t close my eyes when
his breathing became labored,
his ravaged body shrunken beneath the sheets

I didn’t leave the room when
they said Death was near,
She with her inviting darkness and finitude

I remember taking my place at his feet
Laying on hands – in baptism or unction,
his feet still warm for the moment,
Life coursing reluctantly
through his veins

I didn’t close my eyes as
I counted breaths,
seconds between breaths,
listening for the last breath

I didn’t want to miss it,
that moment
he stepped into heaven

I may have blinked,
I may have closed my eyes
in prayer, holding on
to his feet

And in that moment
Rain-spattered windows
Last rites claimed

I closed my eyes as
silence gave way to wailing

Take Me to Church
by Sondra Hall

I didn't close my eyes when her appeared beside us on the Boston
sidewalk, as if out of nowhere. An ailing old man, disheveled and desperate
to get to his church. His body was bent to one side, listing like a dark ship
about to sink, puffs of white breath forming in the air in front of him
signlaing supreme effort.

My teenage son and I were two people closest to him and so we,
strangers to the man bent towards his mission, each took an arm, hoisting
him forward. His weight was leaden as if he were not enlisting a single
muscle, his eyes trained on the church shrouded by the March drizzle in
the distance. If these were his last legs, they were going to cross that
threshold.

We gave our bodies to his cause, bearing his weight, the three of us
lurching towards his holy rest.

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by Barbara Schwartzbach
I didn’t close my eyes when I heard a scream
I didn’t close my eyes when I saw an angry man pick up a child I didn’t close my eyes when the angry man hurt the childI didn’t close my eyes to the child wailingI went to the child eyes wide open, quietly kneeled before him with kindnessI didn’t close my eyes when I spoke the words, I am sorry you are hurting and having a hard time. The child looked up perhaps felt someone cares.This is a true event that happened many years ago, I did not know the child happened at a miniature golf course where I was with my children.