What Does It Mean to Surrender?
Even the tall poplars surrender
to harsh winds in a night storm,
bowing, breaking. Think of the wind,
seen only when countered
by something other.
Once a tree crashed through
the cathedral ceiling of my bedroom
where I long ago tried to surrender
to the demise of my marriage.
That squall blew me down so far
my forehead scraped
the rough stones of loss beneath me.
At times, I could not breathe.
But even then my tears were holy.
The Persian poet Hafez says
we are playing
a chess game with God
whose magnificent moves
can make a saint
bow down in joy.
We fool ourselves,
the Poet says, if we think we can
outmaneuver the Grand Master.
Each time I cried, I descended a stone stair.
At the bottom, there were stone steps
on all four sides of me,
and a dark pond, fragrant with salt and memory.
Donna Baier Stein is an award-winning novelist, short story writer, poet, and playwright. She is the recipient of the PEN/New England Discovery Award, Foreword Reviews Award, Bread Loaf Scholarship, Johns Hopkins Writing Seminars Fellowship, Iowa Fiction Award Finalist, and more. My work has been featured on NPR, PBS, Washingtonian, Saturday Evening Post, and O Magazine.
Amethyst Review 