ManicDDaily

Summer Night, Albert Bloch, 1913

Drinking, Under a Blue Moon, From a Cup That Is Already Broken

I think of the Buddha, who, when his mother
lost a child, assuaged her grief with the promise
that a seed from a home that has not known mourning–

just a mustard seed–I can get one this morning,
the mother cried–could bring life, with all its promise,
back. Lest the child grow cold, the mother,

feet made fleet, spine steeled, with anxious promise,
rushed from house to house  – have you known mourning?
Known death?  All had mustard seeds – but the mother–

the mother learned then–the promise–of each new morning.

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Explanatory note – this is based on a Buddhist tale of the Buddha (coming back after acquiring Buddha-hood) to visit his family at the time his mother lost a young child.  He told her that the child could be brought back to life by a mustard seed coming from a house that had not known death.  The mother could find plenty of mustard seeds – a common spice in India – but no house that had not known death.  This then brought her to some understanding of the universality of suffering, and that, in turn, helped her to accept her grief.  (Yes, it’s a bit hard-hearted; not made for Hollywood.)

Also – the saying “the cup you are drinking from is already broken” refers to the fact that everything comes to an end; that its end is incipient in its beginning.  In other words – the cup is destined to be broken, not that it is actually already chipped.   (That is, unless you’ve taken it from my cupboard.)   

The poem is a tritina – a mini-sestina, that rotates around certain end words, and tries to follow a consistent meter.   I have put in the dashes to slow down the reading of the last line – they don’t really have grammatical significance. 

I am posting this for Tess Kincaid’s Magpie Tales, where Tess posts a photographic prompt each week.