Circle
Circle
Dear Mother,
I realize now
there was a miscommunication.
We were like children playing “telephone”–
sitting in a circle on the floor, mis-whispering
hand-cupped messages.
So, when you said, or at least meant,
“you are my everything,”
I heard, “you must be everything.”
And when you said, at least meant, “there is nothing
more important,”
I heard, “otherwise, you’re nothing important–”
I don’t know how the wires got crossed.
Maybe you’d misheard the messages yourself–
we were not the only ones
in that circle–
But the words of a song learned wrong
soon belong to the tunes we sing, fit our musics
like a glove.
So, what’s to be done, love?
What comes to mind
is simply kindness–
a kindness that is everything
yet gives itself, too, to nothing important.
It feels–the receiving
of this kindness–like bared hands cupping
one another–
like the breath of palm upon knuckle,
the caress of air’s
tissues–
It feels–the giving
of this kindness–like these hands cupping
a heart
as if it were an infant animal, baby chick,
some ball of warmth whose murmured messages
we think we well understand.
But it’s hard to cup one’s own heart, to reach
inside the cage of one’s formed ribs, twist elbows
against their grooves;
fearsome to stretch fingers
into that deep,
to find the aching beat one can’t see but must just feel for
when we sometimes seem to feel it everywhere,
even in the boards I pace as I call you, now from a cell phone,
as if the heart could be cut and sanded,
made into planks that we might sit upon, you and me,
holding us upright, as back and forth
we whisper, try too, to listen.
***************************************
Here’s a poem for Real Toads Open Link night. And also for Kerry O’Connor’s fortuitous prompt on dichotomy.
Explore posts in the same categories: poetry, UncategorizedTags: family circle poem, how we get things wrong poem, http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com, manicddaily, meditating on my dear mom, meditation poem, what I meant to say
You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.
ManicDDaily 
September 2, 2014 at 10:06 pm
walking the heart…like those boards is not easy…neither is communication…and our messages get mixed easy…trying to live up to being everything…is exhausting.
September 2, 2014 at 11:01 pm
Oh what a poem this is. It reminds me of The Joy Luck Club, where the daughter totally misheard her mother’s message and what a revelation it was to her when she realized it. Loved this poem.
September 3, 2014 at 8:20 am
Thanks.
September 3, 2014 at 2:10 am
k, this is one of my favorites of yours, especially the last two paragraphs. ~
September 3, 2014 at 8:20 am
Thanks. k.
September 3, 2014 at 6:45 am
as a sibling of nine with a single parent, mamasita, this was very relatable in our household let alone now in our distant geographic locations we all now reside.
reminds me of that exercise when theres a line of people and the first whispers something to the second and so forth. by the time the last one repeats what he thinks he heard from the previous person it varies greatly from the person who originated the whisper.
nice take on the mother/son communication and expectations.
gracias for sharing
September 3, 2014 at 11:42 am
I like this poem and its accompanying image, the contrasts, the tensions. I like these musical and lovely lines best:
“But the words of a song learned wrong
soon belong to the tunes we sing, fit our musics
like a glove.
So, what’s to be done, love?”
and your answer: kindness. Nice. Wish I’d penned that.
September 3, 2014 at 12:29 pm
Thanks, mark. I am wondering now about the plural/singular business there– tune? In place of tunes? Though I liked musics. I am in a car right now with shifting Internet so not sure I can change it or even think it through clearly!
>
September 3, 2014 at 12:51 pm
I read “tune” and I like “musics”.
September 3, 2014 at 12:58 pm
Thanks. That’s also what I think makes sense. K.
>
September 3, 2014 at 1:11 pm
Ha. Honestly, I’m just not sure. Maybe songs plural? I put it back as I’m riding in a car –not driving– but still can’t think clearly. Thanks. I will be visiting some time soon but am staying tonight in a hospital with a friend/. K
>
September 3, 2014 at 1:11 pm
Ps the friend in the hospital– I am just visiting but staying over night.
>
September 3, 2014 at 7:53 pm
Song or songs both work grammatically and contextually. The plural adds another “S” sound, if you want another.
September 3, 2014 at 8:13 pm
Thanks. I will think about it. Your input much appreciated. k.
September 3, 2014 at 11:47 am
Oh my goodness. Perfect. Universal? Brave.
September 3, 2014 at 9:29 pm
Thanks, Kim. k.
September 3, 2014 at 12:22 pm
Touching and deeply reaches my soul, pulling at my heartstrings. Excellent write.
September 3, 2014 at 12:37 pm
communication is def. one of the most difficult things i can think of…so much potential for misunderstanding each other…love the whole part with the hands cupping a heart ais if an infant animal…
September 3, 2014 at 12:38 pm
We hear the meta-message in the message, and we hear through our own expectations and experiences and so we miss each other and only kindness sees this and forgives and connects again in love, or tries to. I’ve been exploring my mother’s roots for the last 5 weeks and miss her terribly and realize I also missed her in the way you’re describing when she was alive. This is such a good poem, K.
September 3, 2014 at 10:02 pm
Thanks so much, Mary. I don’t know yet whether you’ve been able to move, but hope all going well. k.
September 3, 2014 at 12:47 pm
This is amazing, Karin. Phew! You have the relationship pegged – and so many devolve to this, don’t they? The dichotomy between what is said and what is heard is brilliantly portrayed.
But the words of a song learned wrong
soon belong to the tunes we sing, fit our musics
like a glove…
September 3, 2014 at 12:50 pm
Messages between parent and children are often misheard, miscommunicated, and/or misinterpretted. Too bad we nurse our wounds instead of talking about it.
September 3, 2014 at 4:16 pm
I love “mis-whispering.”
There is so much truth in your words. We’ve all been here.
September 3, 2014 at 4:31 pm
A marvelous reflection, making clear so many things that are normally only felt, implied, assumed or sometimes regretted by omission. Hope I make sense.
September 3, 2014 at 9:23 pm
Thanks, Steve. You always make sense! k.
September 3, 2014 at 5:03 pm
This moved me so much!
September 3, 2014 at 6:44 pm
This is amazing. I especially love:
“But the words of a song learned wrong
soon belong to the tunes we sing, fit our musics
like a glove.”
September 4, 2014 at 6:03 am
oh…. gosh just great big sigh. very truthy… must not play this out for another generation.
September 4, 2014 at 9:27 am
‘But it’s hard to cup one’s own heart..’ maybe the hardest thing of all. Many truths here, which makes it just like life–so many truths coexist that its difficult to unwind one from another, like the voices of the instruments in an orchestra–it takes time to learn, it takes practice(I think the version here of ‘tunes’ and musics’ works very well, btw) . You mentioned the word ‘generosity ‘ in your comment at my place–I feel this is also a very generous poem, one that finds its answers in love and kindness, and exemplifies a phrase I learned down here: “Look over me and not under me.” A very fine, human bit of writing ,k. Best of luck to your friend, and safe travels.
September 4, 2014 at 1:24 pm
Thanks. K.
>
September 4, 2014 at 7:09 pm
Thanks again. My friend okay. I took out the second ” love” here. I’d put it in to make the poem seem more generous– as I’d played with love as an appellation and as a question mark– then tried for both , but think my original– love as appellation better. This may seem just like mumbling. K.
>
September 5, 2014 at 11:51 am
But perfectly comprehensible mumbling, I assure you. I agonize over such choices all the time. Glad all is well with your friend. Stressful. BTW–did I mention how much I like the way you used the metaphor of planks in those last lines? Making love tangible. Brilliant.
September 6, 2014 at 6:12 am
Thanks. k .
September 4, 2014 at 2:49 pm
Communicating.– this is actually both universal and personal at the same time… Our constant struggle to get understood (or sometimes misunderstood).. this is what it is being human.. such an acute observation…
September 5, 2014 at 4:20 am
When is initimacy’s playing field ever even? When does another ever hear what we mean, and when do we ever stop overlaying what we need to what another says? Doomed from the start, but the revising of the procedure is like writing a poem — stripping back to essentials again and again until something close comes through. It’s hardest with those who are most like us, oddly. That’s why intimacy is so friggen crazy. Is it odd that Alexander Graham Bell, who worked so much with the deaf, invented the telephone?
September 9, 2014 at 3:57 pm
So insightful, K! Miscommunication is what we humans do best?!
Your poignant word picture of trying to gently cup one’s own hurting heart really got me…
September 11, 2014 at 2:00 pm
[…] idea came up for me the other day in writing a poem, called “Circle.” I had an image in my mind of cupping one’s own heart, but didn’t know where to go with […]