A Poem for a Monday

I've always been fascinated by the Japanese aesthetic of wabi-sabi--a way of viewing the beauty in a world that is flawed and impermanent. Simply, it is the art of imperfection. Wabi-sabi is a Buddhist teaching that encourages one to embrace life through what one senses, here in this natural world that is rough and imperfect, which then allows one to better connect and engage in life as it happens rather than get caught up in the stressful distractions. If you accept and let yourself process and feel the stress and damage instead of trying to bury it, you might find a new awareness or meaning there. Wabi-sabi can change one's perception of the world as one learns to see even simple objects as interesting and beautiful--a cracked tea pot, aged materials, autumn leaves fading to the earth. So today's poem is sort of my ode to this philosophy.

Out of Sight, Out of Mind

They say when you’re stabbed or shot

or lose a limb you feel nothing of the pain

until you see it—the blood, the inside singing

out in D flat—the you that was. And even then

there is shock, a drawer with a cockroach,

phone call that wakes in the night

with the word of your future. But once

you really see it and the brain does its work,

the body comes undone, organs lit one by one.

Then is pretending the pill for pleasure?

Better to be untouched

by the world or the woods. Does this mean whole?

Does my worrying about loss lose me,

my longing scratch the eyes out of could be?

Seventh floor of a hotel and a drunk leans

by the window. You know the rest—

parking lot bloated with glass, a street bathed in shrill

voices. He breaks a leg—

perhaps only a leg because his mind

was too far gone to sense the danger.

To be dulled is to live. And yet.

Art and beauty—a cord of wood constructed

of fake wood, the eyebrowless Mona Lisa,

fence made of sheets in the wind.

All of nature, chipped and worn—imperfect.

Your dog with half a tail, lover without a six-pack

and dimples. Rusting car in the drive,

even your brand new will not be new tomorrow—

the universe already threatening its mark.

So much in your life is perfectly wrong.

Casey Lord