Little Altars Everywhere


The phoebe sits on her nest
Hour after hour,
Day after day,
Waiting for life to burst out
From under her warmth.

Can I weave a nest for silence,
Weave it out of listening,
Layer upon layer?

But one must first become small,
Nothing but a presence,
Attentive as a nesting bird,
Proffering no slightest wish,
No tendril of a wish
Toward anything that might happen
Or be given,
Only the warm, faithful waiting,
Contained in one’s smallness.
Beyond the question, the silence.
Before the answer, the silence.

– May Sarton, “Beyond the Question, 1”


4 thoughts on “Little Altars Everywhere

    • We were talking about you yesterday. Tom said he liked this poem, and I asked him who May Sarton reminded him of. He gave me that slightly panicked, glazed look whenever I bring up anything about poetry. LOL I said, “It’s not a test, but May Sarton should always make you think of Andrea.” He said, “Got it. May Sarton. Andrea Osborne.”

      True story.

      Glad you liked it.


      • Love it. Please tell Tom I said ‘hello’. He’s still one of the funniest and most fun guys I know. Hope you all are well. As the world is waking with spring, it’s waking me to some new, exciting opportunities. Am trying to be brave and take advantage of them and see where things lead…

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