Jim Peterson

Jim Peterson

THE LIGHT

for Harriet

You have done everything

There is nothing left to do

Your wrongs are now right

Your rights are still right

You can let go now

Let go of your eyes

that have seen too much

and too little,

your hands that have played

the strings, the keys,

the skins of animals

stretched tight over the drums

Let go of the horses,

the loving of them,

the training, riding them

to victories and losses,

standing with them

in midnight pastures

full of cool breezes

Let go of your face

you pressed so often

into your own hands

Let go of your tongue,

the taste of food,

the taste of words

Let go of your voice

that rode the breath

of your songs

Let go of your knees, elbows,

shoulders, belly, genitals

Let go of your feet

No need to stand on them

or see them or touch them again

Let go of your hair, skin,

beauty, ugliness, scent

Let go of your heart

its love and its hate and its fear

Let go of your friends

and your enemies,

your mother and father,

your brothers and sisters,

the assorted smiles you gave them

Let go of your mind

its thoughts, its hopes, its dreams,

its attitudes, its knowledge,

its assumptions, its underlying

beliefs, its overbearing beliefs,

Let go of every one of them

They won’t help you now

Let go of your dog

who lies at the foot of your bed

She studies every labored breath you take

I will keep her safe

Let go of me

who sits beside you

holding your right hand

where these words

fall out of me like leaves

I want to go

through that door with you

but nothing and no one can do that

You won’t miss us anyway

when you get there

There is nothing more to do

Nothing all day and all night

Nothing under the sheets

Nothing within the mirror

Everything has been said

Except this

When you get there

do not be distracted

Go into the light

And this

Be at peace

I love you

I know you love me

You are ready for this

This is the time

Go into the light

Be at peace

You have let it all go

It cannot hold you

to this place any more

—from Rattle #75, Spring 2022

__________

Jim Peterson: “I started writing poems in high school because I couldn’t dance, sing, play an instrument, paint, or even whistle melodically, and I really wanted to be an artist of some kind. After writing for a while, I fell in love with it, though my poems were melodramatic and sentimental. Now, I’m writing poems to celebrate the life I shared with Harriet, to purge myself of my sorrow and grief over her illness and death, and to shed light on the long healing process. She still teaches me.”

Jim Peterson

FOLLOWING YOU

for Harriet

I followed you up the face

of that cliff-riddled mountain.

I am tall, stiff, scared of heights.

You are small, lithe, quick and not

scared of anything in the physical

world. At first the easy handholds

and footholds gave me confidence.

But narrow ledges curving under

overhangs began to take their toll.

I stalled, my face pressed to rock,

no way forward or back. The fall

was steep for three hundred feet,

then a sloped field of boulders, then

the tops of firs rising toward us.

You coached, guided my hand

to a hold I couldn’t see, and suddenly

I could swing around to you.

We grew silent in our climbing

as the sun beat down on us hot

and the wind whipped us cold.

You led the way, finding routes

that only a lizard would see. The top

was faraway above us and out

of sight. I kept my eyes straight

ahead on the rock, feeling

for the next hold. Or I watched

the soles of your feet, your

swaying butt, the braid of your long

blond hair swinging back and forth.

On a steeper, more difficult face

you kept describing finger holds,

but when I reached, they felt like

band aids stuck to the stone.

Still, I made the next ledge again

and again. The shadows of hawks

and eagles flashed across me as if

I’d become stone myself. I could

hear your words, but I didn’t listen.

Wind whistled and whispered across

the countenances of great cliffs.

A hawk’s shrill cry scattered down

the valley of crags and spires.

I watched the wavy shadow-feet

of clouds as if they knew the way

home. Your voice fell on me

from above like my own thoughts,

saying to keep reaching and feeling,

to keep moving. And I did, managing

somehow to trust the sliver of an edge

to pull myself up to you. We sat

for hours on that ledge, our bodies

fused at hip and shoulder. The vastness

swirled and thickened. Our eyes

and ears traveled so far into the unknown,

we could barely breathe.

—from Rattle #70, Winter 2020

__________

Jim Peterson: “When I was just a kid, because of a fine teacher I started writing poems. It was a good way for this shy boy to tell a girl I loved her or to express my sadness at my friend’s unexpected death. Once I started, I never stopped. These poems combine those two impulses—poems for my beloved and deceased wife, Harriet.” (web)

Jim Peterson was the guest on Rattlecast #69. Click here to watch …

Rattle: Poetry

… without pretension since 1995.

June 15, 2022

February 22, 2021