That Would Really Be Something
I would like to make nothing
a verb. I nothing. You nothing.
We nothing. That second person
plural is my favorite conjugation.
Imagine. Both of us not hinging together.
Where? I don’t care. The garden.
The alley. The canyon. The floor.
More nothing. Oh, it’s nothing.
Nothing is sacred, any more.
And there, on the altar of air
our minds and bodies rest. They unfold
in the hollow, the gaps. Though
when nothing happens, that’s
all I want to talk about. I thrill
at nothing. I love nothing.
Nothing’s perfect. Nothing’s easy.
The grass continues to grow.
Nothing to do. Nothing to say.
Let’s do nothing together all day.
~Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
This poem was a gift to me this morning from an eclectic spirituality listserv that I’m on. Blessings to that listserv and their shared wisdom.