THE NARRATIVE ARC
An Ode To Mary Oliver, Wild Geese, And What We Love
On letting the soft animal of your body love what it loves
Pretty paper can’t hide what hands know. Holding the gift, I smile, knowing it’s a painting. But I don’t know of what, so I peel away wrapping paper. Slowly, because I love how it builds the anticipation. To see inside.
It’s a watercolor. Soft colors bleeding sun into sky. Wild geese above. Grass below. There’s words but I can’t read more than a few before I’m crying.
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
Mary Oliver, Wild Geese. She undoes me, so now I’ve come undone.
For years I tried to fit that idea in my head. That I don’t have to be good. Don’t have to walk a hundred miles on my knees, repenting. Couldn’t seem to keep that idea in my head. Too many words picked fights with it.
Words like too opinionated, too much attitude, too mouthy, too stubborn. Words like sit down, cross your legs, act like a lady, do what you’re told. And do something with that hair of yours for heaven’s sakes. Look at yourself but I didn’t want to look at myself. Just…
