May 2024
Carol Alena Aronoff
ca.aronoff@hawaiiantelo.net
ca.aronoff@hawaiiantelo.net
Bio Note: I am a poet, retired psychologist and teacher who lives in rural Hawaii, meditating in nature, working the land and writing. I have published 6 full-length poetry collections and 4 chapbooks and my poems have appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies. I was twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize and was a finalist in the Common Ground Spiritual Poetry contest judged by Jane Hirshfield.
The Scents of Grief
An absence that is aways
present– a phantom limb.
The hollow place
inside your chest
that whispers,
no longer here.
Sometimes, a solid wall
of grief threatens
to collapse you;
somedays, a black hole
wants to swallow
any life or joy you feel.
Within that empty feeling,
one tiny bud is moved to blossom,
offering sweet fragrance,
nectar for a weighted soul–
reminder that you too
can bloom in soil
bereft and lacking.
A mourning dove nestles
on nearby branches, cooing
a soft dirge then flying off,
its wings gathering hope
that lifts the spirit.
Bird Medicine
What medicine there is in a hummingbird
hovering above generous sunflowers,
the butterfly alighting on an open palm.
How healing the sounds of spring snow
melt swelling the once dry streambed,
carrying the songs of tumbling stones.
And in town, the kindness of a stranger
who lets you go ahead to check out when
your nerves are frayed as an old sweater
about to unravel. A favorite song on the car
radio, the lights turning green as you reach
the intersections all the way home.
Your dog happy to see you. No messages
on your phone. And as you unpack the
groceries, you find a container of ice cream
you forgot that you bought. Anticipating
its sweetness, you remember that what
is healing can be simple and small.
The Wisdom of Sunflowers
Their roots take in
the toxic waste
of thoughtless acts,
transform them
into food for thought,
into flowering.
Young heads turn
always towards
the sun. When
there is no sun,
they turn toward
each other.
Sun gods incarnate
with all-seeing eyes
uplift nations, stand
watch over dreamers,
ornament graves. In rain
and wind, they bow like
supplicants, shed seeds
of possibility yet to
germinate. Even when
dried and past their
bloom, they feed us–
ask nothing in return.
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