"Absence, Presence"

Well friends, I’m already breaking my rule of sending you just the poem, without introduction. But this time, I can’t resist! I was doing some research about the poet, Luisa A. Igloria, and I found out that, for the month of February, she is also doing a special poetry project: A POETRY POSTCARD PROJECT. It sounds amazing: you write a short poem about your “here”, create a postcard incorporating your poem, and send it to her as a submission. Then, she’ll share all the postcards on her website during the month of April. The deadline to mail them is February 28, 2022. How could I not share this?? You can read more details here, but I wanted to share a small excerpt of her introduction to the project:

As we move into a third year of pandemic, I've also found myself wanting to listen more closely to the things my body is telling me: sometimes all I want to do is retreat into quiet, and not have to be for others. Other times, I crave the sound of human voices in conversation; a hug, a touch. In between, I search for words that can both ground and lift: in books, in poems, in writing—a way to look at whatever this place is holding, this here and now.

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And now, without further ado, today’s poem:

Absence, Presence
BY Luisa A. Igloria

Every absence is an ancestor: speak to it,
ignore it, feed it, turn it out of doors,
it will not matter— It knows where you live,
which side of the pillow you prefer in sleep,
where you buy eggs and milk and toilet
paper. It knows whom you last kissed on the mouth,
how you cried to read that poem written by
your daughter, your bewilderment at the stroke
after stroke of bad luck that came the year
you decided to say I do to your green, unproven
heart. The roses in the garden bloomed and withered,
and then came back. Dormant doesn't mean dead,
only sleeping. Winter is another form of absence,
some say a kindness: substituting white
after white for all the gutted fields before
their softening in spring. Absence, presence—
I bow to you my ancestors; I stoke the fire
and save the bones for soup in these cold months
when I am most reminded I am your kin.

Luisa A. Igloria, "Absence, Presence" from The Buddha Wonders If She Is Having a Mid-Life Crisis. Copyright © 2018 by Luisa A. Igloria.  Reprinted by permission of Luisa A. Igloria.
Source: The Buddha Wonders If She Is Having a Mid-Life Crisis (Phoenicia Publishing, 2018)