With this post
One Woman has written 1000 entries.
In the beginning what will I write.
Happy words, words of woe, gardening images,
cooking and sometimes just thoughts.
Happy times, sad time, words of her life experiences
and images and words of those in her past.
Words about children and grandchildren
and when they read her words they always
knew what was happening in her life and something
about those who came before them.
Poems were shared that spoke to her heart.
Guess this is her life.
and wondering is there anything left to share?
Even if no one wants to read the rambling
of one who suddenly is relating to aging,
she will continue writing and sharing images
because it has become a part of her
that seems to have taken on a life of its own....
It was like this:
you were happy, then you were sad,
then happy again, then sad.
It went on.
You were innocent or you were guilty.
Actions were taken, or not.
At times you spoke, at other times you were silent.
Mostly, it seems you were silent -- what could you say?
Now it is almost over.
Your life bends down and kisses your life.
It does this not in forgiveness---
between you, there is nothing to forgive--
but with the simple nod of a baker at the moment
he sees the bread is finished with transformation.
Eating too, is a thing now only for others.
It doesn't matter what they will make of you
or your days: they will be wrong,
they will miss the wrong woman,
all the stories they tell will be tales of their own invention.
Your story was this: you were happy, then you were sad,
you slept and awakened.
~~After~~ Jane Hirshfield Poems
in part from "It Was Like This: You Were Happy....