Meditation in Time of War
by Ginnie Goulet Gavrin
I sit cross-legged in silence. The room so still I can sense the plants’ wordless language. Glare
of green. Orchids in a bow of bloom. Jade in a wandering lean toward light.
Ancient trope
Seed’s memory
of sun
Breath remembers breathing. Heart remembers beating. Silence the body’s perfect instruction.
Mind remembers thinking, thinking, if not the thought. Blood pump. Nowhere to locate the ache.
The chest cannot contain it. What the eye has seen. The image –– a child’s body in the street
on the other side of the world. In stillness, the unspeakable whispers.
TV screen shut off
empty
still the city burns
At three, my grandson cups his ear when he hears a new sound. What is that? Overhead t
he clouds growl the faint flight of an airplane. By habit I don’t hear it. Scattered mind drones.
Useless hum. Hovering babble of noise that silence tries to break through.
In quiet
each nightmare
has its say
Ginnie Goulet Gavrin is a retired massage therapist. Currently she teaches meditation and writing workshops at the Monadnock Mindfulness Practice Center in Keene, New Hampshire. Her poetry has appeared in The Literary Review, The Worcester Review, THEMA, Primavera, Slipstream, The Greensboro Review, Cold Mountain Review, Tar River Poetry, Silk Road Review, as well as an anthology on Rewilding put out by Split Rock Review.
