The Occasional Heart, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

The Occasional Heart


Jennifer Angelina Petro



Some things are better left broken—

Seeds and cicada husks, the robin’s egg,

The chrysalis, the occasional heart.


Some things cannot be healed—

Not simply because they aren’t illnesses–

But because experiences cannot be

Undone.  And besides,


Some wounds

Are delicious—the taste of blood

Metallic and sacred, free of pity—

Fortifying the bones.


Wounds happen,

No rhyme, no reason, no

Providence.  They are moments

In the absurdity and the ridiculous wonder

Of living, of breaking open,

Of blossoming into the air,

Of wings settling and elongating,

Of the gift of spiraling inwards and

Outwards during sleep, during death, and unfolding—

Sifting through the branches of your life–

A most spectacular storm,

A most radiant calm.


Sit with grief.  Allow it to breathe.

It isn’t something

To be cured.  It isn’t

A sickness.

It is you, the self-same you–

Just as joy is your name.


Consider yourself



Missing, nothing worthy

Of stealing for, killing for, dying for.

Live.   Your soul–ever

Untarnished, uncorruptible—

Is more you than you.  Live.


As for the rest of it—yes—

The mind, body, the spirit—

These, like wings, can all

Be broken.  Rest as you move.


Everything gradually

Falls apart and wishes itself

Into the ground and sky.


Nothing can stop the holy breaking

Open.  Live.  Leap

Into the vastness

Of possibility.  Live.


Bury the dead, nourish the living,

And roar—


Into your life.




Naming the Way, by, Jennifer Angelina Petro

Naming the Way


Jennifer Angelina Petro



Go outside late October.

Lock your eyes on one falling leaf.

Try to find the moment

As close to the beginning

Of it’s letting go from the branch

As you can. Really follow that leaf—

That one in a million leaf.

Train your eyes on it.  Focus.

Notice the way the wind carries it,

Breathes it.  Watch how it turns

Gently over and around, catching little

Fleeting currents, and then

Smoothing out into a kind

Of easy drifting.  Its descent held

In the palms of the wind.  See

How golden.  See how tenderly

It is placed in the stream.

Give that leaf a name—your

Name, and then,

Go back inside

To pray.





Including You, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Including You


Jennifer Angelina Petro



Now that autumn is in full gear

And the air fills the lungs with letting go breaths,

The time has come once again

When the slant of light catches you off guard

And you find yourself weeping

Watching the precipitation from the trees

Vesturing the ground with red and gold.


There is nothing you can do.

The allegory of the leaves and change

Has been around as long as trees themselves.

You cannot get around letting go.


And there are times letting go turns

Into a flood of things sailing away

Just beyond your reach into a day full of cidered light–

And you can only watch, or try


To look away, nevertheless parts of your life

Will be draped on the ground like so many

Torn shards of shifts and shirts

And they will be there waiting for you

To witness their being caught down in unavoidable winds

And you will be left with either becoming

Hard, like a tree whose blood slows to frozen,


Or ebullient like a flower girl at a wedding, tossing

Rose petals along the aisle where death

Sits on one side and life on the other,

And your processional of letting go distracts everyone

Momentarily from the marriage about to happen

That will leave everyone, including you,

Searching frantically inside

For the one they used to love.










Joseph Anthony


We all know
You will be the last one standing.

After all the fires and floods
You will step out from the ruins
And take your rightful place
At the center of all things.

How can we redeem ourselves now
So that you will not swallow us up into your endless belly?
Is there a way you can unfold yourself now
So that when the time comes for our souls
To thaw and to lift, we won’t be so afraid when you call our names?
Is there a way of touching you now
So that when you drape us in your arms
Your embrace won’t feel so cold and foreign?
Is there a way, Silence, of getting to know you now
So that when the softening comes,
And the rendering, we won’t be so afraid
That we beg to be born again?

With all of our distractions and means
Of avoiding you we know we fear the thing
We want the most.

So please
Speak through us now so that we may learn
Your language, sing through us now
So that we may learn your melody,
Move through us now so that when our steps distill into dancing
We will fall joyfully into the feathers
Of your waiting and terrible wings.