"We clean to give space for Art."
Micaela Miranda, Freedom Theatre, Palestine
Work was a shining refuge when
wind sank its tooth into my mind.
Everything we love is going away,
drifting - but you could sweep
this stretch of floor,
this patio or porch,
gather white stones in a bucket,
rake the patch for future planting,
mop the counter with a rag.
Lovely wet gray rag,
squeeze it hard, it does so much.
Clear the yard
of blowing bits of plastic.
The glory in the doing.
The breath of the doing.
Sometimes the simplest move
kept fear from fragmenting
into no energy at all,
or sorrow from multiplying,
or sorrow from being the
only person living in the house.
-Naomi Shihab Nye
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem