Poetry in Ordinary Time: Mary Oliver, Part 2

This is the second of four parts -- poetry for your reflection, written by Pulitzer Prize winning American poet, Mary Oliver, who died in January at age 83.

Photo: a stretch of the Clarion River 
that runs through Cook Forest Park.
Photographer: Zack (Zach) Zrudisin

At the River Clarion

2.

If God exists, he isn't just butter and good luck.
He's also the tick that killed my wonderful dog Luke.
Said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then
     keep on going.

Imagine how the lily (who may also be a part of God)
   would sing to you if it could sing, if
        you would pause to hear it.
And how are you so certain anyway that it doesn't sing?

If God exists he isn't just churches and mathematics.
He's the forest, He's the desert.
He's the ice caps, that are dying.
He's the ghetto and the Museum of Fine Arts.

He's Van Gogh and Allen Ginsberg and Robert
     Motherwell.
He's the many desperate hands, cleaning and preparing
     their weapons.
He's every one of us, potentially.
The leaf of grass, the genius, the politician,
     the poet.
And if this is true, isn't it something very important?

Yes, it could be that I am a tiny piece of God, and
     each of you too, or at least
         of his intention and his hope.
Which is a delight beyond measure.
I don't know how you get to suspect such an idea.
     I only know that the river keeps singing.
It wasn't a persuasion, it was all the river's own
     constant joy,
which was better by far than a lecture, which was
    comfortable, exciting, unforgettable.


If you missed Part 1, you can read it HERE.

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