Sunday Intentions: Hope

For the oysters

Photo by Marc-Olivier Jodoin on Unsplash

For the oysters that give up their pearls so that we can string them and, when outraged, clutch at them until they burst and scatter in chaos across the floor.

For those who have scattered their pearls and now diligently re-gather them.

For those who persist in their search for ways around and through chaos.

For those who restring their pearls, for those who search for a way through, and for those who stop to breathe.

For those who write a letter or make a sign to march with or phone a friend in distress.

For those who this afternoon read a book, listen to music, or chop vegetables for soup, and, tomorrow morning, refreshed, are ready for a new action.

For those who know that a sign and a pot of soup are both expressions of hope.

For those who don’t clutch at their own pearls, whose strings remain intact, that they might be curious about all the jewels scattered to the corners and ask, why? what’s wrong? what can I do to help you?

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“Hope” is the thing with feathers

BY EMILY DICKINSON

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

/

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

/

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.   

Source: Poetry Foundation