Into the Fire
Every love counts, the puppy you were given
At six, the tadpoles that you tried to raise;
Even your silly parents and the siblings
You couldn’t stand were loved on certain days.
The first love of your adolescence, later
Spoken of slightingly as immature,
The love of marriage, even if it ended
In bitterness, the friends that still endure.
Into the mix, put in your charity
To those who had no one but you to love them.
All the loves given, even reluctantly,
Are still our loves. Let’s not make little of them.
They form the empyrean that burns on
when sun and moon and stars have packed and gone.
Gail White
( First published in FIRST THINGS)
Painting: Nativity, Rein Nomm, on Flickr
At six, the tadpoles that you tried to raise;
Even your silly parents and the siblings
You couldn’t stand were loved on certain days.
The first love of your adolescence, later
Spoken of slightingly as immature,
The love of marriage, even if it ended
In bitterness, the friends that still endure.
Into the mix, put in your charity
To those who had no one but you to love them.
All the loves given, even reluctantly,
Are still our loves. Let’s not make little of them.
They form the empyrean that burns on
when sun and moon and stars have packed and gone.
Gail White
( First published in FIRST THINGS)
Painting: Nativity, Rein Nomm, on Flickr
Just for the record, this was first published in FIRST THINGS.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Gail. I added a note with a link, under your name. It should be noted that that they were the first to publish this poem, considering their name is "First...", but I think it deserves being anthologized many more times after that first time. I should also note, since every love counts, that this poem is one that I love.
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