Gentleness

One of my very favorite poems is "Kindness" by Naomi Shihab Nye. Like, if they told me that somehow I could only take five poems along with me through this world, that would be one I would take. "Kindness" showed up twice last week, so it's been alive all over again in my consciousness. 

Just now I went to my file of poems to see if one wanted to be brought into the light, and this one caught my eye. A couple of years ago a few of us wrote poems for a church service on the Fruit of the Spirit, and "gentleness" was the "fruit" I chose. I realize I'm not doing this poem a favor by bringing "Kindness" to your attention first, but I'm sure without "Kindness" being in my psyche, this poem wouldn't be what it is. Anyway, while you're here, here's a little offering.

~ Gentleness

Go ahead and break my heart.
Break it wide open
with the man who walks beside traffic
dragging one foot in a worn-out shoe.
Break open my heart
with the tears sliding down my sister’s face
when someone asks her how she’s doing,
whether her youngest is sleeping through the night,
whether she’s remembering to take care of herself.
Break my heart open
with the taxi driver in Peru,

his back to the jeering of the other drivers
as he leads us to his old beast of a car,
his eyes straining with desperation for this fare,
for something to take home to his family.

Gentleness opens me
to the exquisite pain of seeing the heart’s courage—
people not blaming when they could blame,
not quitting when they could quit.
There is the vulnerability of letting life change us,
surprise us, humble us, even bless us
when we think we do not deserve it.

When gentleness dissolves me,
what I have is enough, so much more than enough:
our five-year-old’s face just inches from mine,
the robin building a precarious nest on our porch light,
a tall glass of orange juice when I have a cold.
When gentleness opens me
there is no need for the Golden Rule
for there are no “others,”
no boundaries to preserve,
no self to protect.
There are no neighbors to try to love,
there is only Love
that has us swimming in grace
when we are not making up stories otherwise.

I am most open
when I am broken
and I am most broken
by tenderness,
by kindness,
by the bravery
of getting up each day
and doing our best
to ease our layers of suffering,
to love and be loved,
to find a haven of gentleness
in which to rest and heal
and become our truest selves.