Mary Oliver says I do not have to be good
It took me most of my life
to believe this, that there is
an entire sky sprawled above me
whose vastness is unconditional
no matter how large or small
I allow myself to be
Lying on the grass with
my back against the blades
shoulders raw and red
I remember the prickly heat
of a crowded cathedral
ravenous for redemption
and how it never seemed
enough to make me feel
like I was enough
These days when I think
of grace I think of clasped
hands, mine in someone
else’s, of forgiveness freely
served even when I am not
on my knees, of the holy
sound of silence when
what is unspoken satiates
When I think of love
it doesn’t take much
to recognize the fragile
and flawed parts of me
that deserve it nonetheless
Something is keeping
everything together.
I can’t name it yet.
Mary Oliver says I do not
have to be good, and how
tremendously blessed am I
that there is still time left
to understand that all the world
asks of me—in all its beauty and
chaos, the wide feather-flecked
blue of it—is to pay attention.