by Juley Harvey
on the day of the 367
california wildfires,
lightning strikes me
as i hot-handedly
suffer the 367th editorial rejection,
wonder how i will recover,
rewrite, as sadness illuminates
my life’s manuscript, rebuild
my confidence, see my work
as meaningful and necessary
to the world at large, and my
smaller but raging inner sanctum,
which neons itself, glows,
stabs at an intimate organ,
a safe, hot place, space.
art is life somehow.
and the question now,
why me, reverberates,
booms in the gloom.
and you only hope
you will learn
from the sorrow
deep in the well
that mostly transforms
all hope and hell.
knowing the only thing
you can do is go on, as well,
one foot, one hand, one moment
at a time, that being life’s sainted work.
and therefore what will be demanded of you.
no options allowed.
did the wildfire or the stab ice hurt more?
depends upon the strata of the fire-ice cloud.
the only choice, to endure, know that is what we are here for,
to add our embodied voice
to the strange, hallelujah junction journey.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Juley Harvey is an award-winning poet and a former journalist in both California and Colorado. Her poems have been featured in more than 45 publications and anthologies, including Tallgrass Writer’s black-and-white series, Loon Magic and other night sounds, TulipTree’s Wild Women, and GRRR an anthology about Bears.
She resides at the gateway to Rocky Mountain National Park, with her beloved fur-full muses, rescued Moosie and Pye. She is grateful to be a part of the artistic community, especially when its heart and soul are needed so much.