The Red Poppy
—Louise Glück

The great thing
is not having
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they
govern me. I have
a lord in heaven
called the sun, and open
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters,
were you like me once, long ago,
before you were human? Did you
permit yourselves
to open once, who would never
open again? Because in truth
I am speaking now
the way you do. I speak
because I am shattered.

Melancholia
—C. Dale Young

The whirring internal machine, its gears
grinding not to a halt but to a pace that emits
a low hum, a steady and almost imperceptible
hum: the Greeks would not have seen it this way.

Simply put, it was a result of black bile,
the small fruit of the gall bladder perched
under the liver somehow over-ripened
and then becoming fetid. So the ancients

would have us believe. But the overly-emotional
and contrarian Romans saw it as a kind of mourning
for one’s self. I trust the ancients but I have never
given any of this credence because I cannot understand

how one does this, mourn one’s self.
Down by the shoreline—the Pacific
wrestling with far more important
philosophical issues—I recall the English notion

of it being a wistfulness, something John Donne
wore successfully as a fashion statement.
But how does one wear wistfulness well
unless one is a true believer?

The humors within me are unbalanced,
and I doubt they were ever really in balance
to begin with, ever in that rare but beautiful
thing the scientists call equilibrium.

My gall bladder squeezes and wrenches,
or so I imagine. I am wistful and morose
and I am certain black bile is streaming
through my body as I walk beside this seashore.

The small birds scrambling away from the advancing
surf; the sun climbing overhead shortening shadows;
the sound of the waves hushing the cries of gulls:
I have no idea where any of this ends up.

To be balanced, to be without either
peaks or troughs: do tell me what that is like…
This contemplating, this mulling over, often leads
to a moment a few weeks from now,

the one in which everything suddenly shines
with clarity, where my fingers race to put down
the words, my fingers so quick on the keyboard
it will seem like a god-damned miracle.

Many years ago, I was part of a volunteer group working on a project. We were making little progress, and what progress we’d been able to make had been painfully slow. I introduced an idea which would jump us forward significantly, but it required everyone to get over themselves and do the work.

One of the biggest whiners in the group (whining was a favorite activity of many of the members) piped up, “Baby steps! We need to take baby steps!”

I looked at her and in my most polite butter-would-not-melt-in-my-mouth tone replied, “I am 40 years old, and have no more time for baby steps.”

A couple of the other women then proceeded to lecture me about my tone, and everyone in the group (except me) voted to take the next baby step.

I left the group shortly thereafter.

Sometimes baby steps are necessary to start a particularly daunting project, or to pick up again after getting sidetracked. But sometimes, you have to leap.

Don’t be afraid to take a big step. You can’t cross a chasm in two small jumps.—David Lloyd George, British prime minister

[Image description: A teaser screenshot of this week’s Insight from the Oracles, with just a hint of the cards and runes showing.]

Absolute
—Jacqueline Woodson

The summer I was ten a teenager
named Kim butterflied my hair. Cornrows
curling into braids
behind each ear.
Everybody’s wearing this style now, Kim said.
Who could try to tell me
I wasn’t beautiful. The magic
in something as once ordinary
as hair that for too long
had not been good enough
now winged and amazing
now connected
to a long line of crowns.
Now connected
to a long line of girls
moving through Brooklyn with our heads
held so high, our necks ached. You must
know this too – that feeling
of being so much more than
you once believed yourself to be
so much more than your
too-skinny arms
and too-big feet and
too-long fingers and
too-thick and stubborn hair
All of us now
suddenly seen
the trick mirror that had us believe
we weren’t truly beautiful
suddenly shifts
and there we are
and there we are
and there we are again
and Oh! How could we not have seen
ourselves before? So much more
We are so much more.