Jeff McCallum

There are perhaps

too many miracles

They have become footnotes

passing unnoticed through our days

Polio vaccine

X-rays

Love

one snowflake in a winter storm

The myriad galaxies

drops of water in the sea

Fire

Electric light

Polyester

pale

when genes recall the wonder of new life

But then again

perhaps there are too many miracles

If anyone actually checks this site regularly I apologize for not posting. I was preoccupied with my second lung wedge section in less a year to remove a growth, this one on the left lung. Both lungs contained metastasized versions of my original cancer so I will be going to the Mayo for check- ups for the rest of my life although, come to think of it, this is a good thing as I would be more worried if they said “looks good, see you in a year or two.” I mean REALLY, what would I do but fret that something nasty was sneaking up on me.

In the midst of this, John Fox agreed to do four work shops for the American Cancer Society’s Hope Lodge, three in Rochester and one in Minneapolis prior to his workshops at Macalester, St. Katherine’s and Century Colleges. Once again he inspired me more than a little as he worked the magic of poetry, healing and the soul.

One of the poems John presented at Hope Lodge was his own; “When Someone Deeply Listens to You” a poem that never fails to move people to see and to write. My idea was to post a few of the poems I wrote while in the workshops, and to once again urge those who would to visit John’s website www.poeticmedicine.org

When you deeply listen to my words

my heart

my joy

the sorrows and soaring of my soul

and I in turn to you

this

my love

is

love

And when my words like watered earth

move slowly through you

touching this and holding that

are held without disturbing

and I in turn

drink at the well your words have left

when all your earth has through me moved

is this my love

our love

When you don’t listen to me

or I to you

perhaps it is because we have met at the wrong café

We seldom meet in the grass

barefoot under the maple or pine

where there is no need to whisper

for fear the waiter or the couple at the next table

will hear our proposal

business or otherwise

We seldom share the silence of our eyes

touching soft or softer still

than palm or voice imagine

The cries of this earth are so urgent

I can not hear your heart

Let us take a long

long moment

and listen