5 fists from sally - as the saints come flowing in

from sally/for sally

a

in qigong after the meditation and before the dharma talk

in a shambly old church east of the "jesus is the light

of the world" sign in 70000 point font next to a rise of old doug fir

towards the end, the instructor tells us to make fists and 

be fierce like lions, punching out then scooping back

i can't make fists for the lion, though i still know how to growl

but fists are too much like fighting, like breaking both the bones in my 

arm when i threw the right hook like all the yelling

i lunge out with an open palm, fierce in my nonviolence

the palm up a kind of offering, a kind of maple leaf offered up to sky

sourced from earth, the strong dirt that made the leaf of my palm

zens me still

b

not that the earth can't be angry

it's just i've had enough ire for several generations

haven't we 

all?

c

it's why some of us are committed

to not having human offspring

to not make more of what has so recently become

a plague of fists, a triumph of stomping

d

"when the saints come marching in"? they got it all wrong

when the wood nymphs come floating in

when the spirits of water come flowing in

when the great transformative fire tongues 

come licking in 

when the springs of air come zephyring in

even come earthquake even come tornado

there is no marching, never any marching

in the well order of things

e

my friend suggests to make a poem with 5 things. 

five in my tribe is the star of provisioning, the flow of 

ideas, inspiration, feelings, embodiment, and guidance

that weave into sinews into my being.

this 5 fold weave breathes me to life.

i come to this poem not with a fist but a maple leaf

newly birthed in spring spinning to summer

the green light flowing through

i uncurl my fingers and offer an open leaf up

5 fronds for luck

5 fronds for making

5 fronds for mercy

5 fronds for health

5 fronds for justice