I Bow to You

by Peg Edera

Washing machine Image

You, You—I bow to You
the song that never ends

I bow to dreams and wakeful nights
the lessons of the dark

I bow to sheets and blankets
even the musty ones needing a wash

I bow to the washing machine and
always, always to the clothesline,

I bow to the sun and the air, wind and
raindrops small and large,
freezing, turning into unique
tiny snow petals,

I bow to every flower I see and
every flower I remember,
every scent that surprises or lingers
that I can still recall years later,

I bow to memory, the sweetness,
the exploding fragments,
the ones I never want to lose,
the ones I’d abandon in a heartbeat if I could,
yes, I even bow to those reluctantly
knowing teachers when I see them

and I do bow to all the teachers
which means I bow to every person I’ve seen,
or spoken with, laughed with, held or been held by,
to every question asked of me,
even the ones I still dread

and I bow to the dread, hoping it will
loosen its hold on me

and I bow to all the tangled anchors and to gravity,
to the blessed ground Herself,
to the ones who have come before,
the ones who lived here first,

I bow to the ones who have gone on
before me to what waits ahead

and I bow to that unknown
and to unknowing,
to the letting go of what it is
I still don’t know,
I’ll never know.

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