"A Little More Mindful," a Poem from Dwelling for Palm Sunday

Archaic Attic black-figure lekythos (perfume vessel).
Attributed to the Amasis Painter, 550-530 BC. Metropolitan Museum #31.11.10

A LITTLE MORE MINDFUL

—busy yourself with your daily duties, your loom, your distaff…

for war is man's matter…

—Iliad, Book VI

If I could be a little more mindful,

groom my dogs’ fur, remember

to shelve my books, shut the closet

and cabinet doors, hide away

my mess of clothes and dishes,

and graciously address every annoyance

(or worse than annoyance), perhaps

my sandals would glide up marble steps

and I’d find myself idle,

holding my peace, my desperate

thoughts left to themselves

at the bottom of the hill, while I turnover

in my palm some stones that hold

the spirits of those who do not cry out

praise for a king riding a donkey,

clothed in garments his mother wove,

her design covering his flesh from birth

until he hugged his shroud

on a road strewn with rags and palms

and wept over the city:

                        “If only you knew

on this day those things creating peace.”

Centuries before his word, their spirits dwell

in rubble, for countless wars

knock stone from stone.

They perished so long ago, their wanderings

and homes are the work

of archeology. Their pots are dust

the Athenian shopkeepers sweep away

each morning, along with the art

of their looms: the saffron

and hyacinth yarns spun for the owl,

chariot and wingéd horses

on Athena’s raiment, the story-cloths

on which the Fates dance and lament,

and teach child-bearers

            to weave defiance in a double purple web,

their textile and text incomprehensible to men.

Soldiers cannot divide the seamless robe

passed from mother to daughter,

mystery in a single thread.

Dwelling, by Aliki Barnstone

William Blake, "The Night of Enitharmon's Joy"

Dormition of the Mother of God
Church Filipovo Palm Sunday Icon