Ninety-nine girlfriends 2019 Engagement party!
What a great party!
Here are Amy’s poems she graciously shared at the party.
And, scroll down to see some fun photos snapped by Jinx.
Mount of Shards
—a hill built with the ancient remains of amphoras dating back before Caesar
Once, I was a vessel. Gravid, carrying olive oil within the belly
of my smooth terracotta from one port to another. Contents poured
out and delivered, I prepared my hardened hollowed body for the return.
Handled and emptied, considered spent, then shattered and left upon a pile,
reduced to shards that clattered on the bones of other broken jars.
Refuse, I surrendered, lying helpless, lost, and still. Silent,
I heard the eggshell clink and wind chime of chipped clay call out
as more of us were abandoned, layer upon layer, necks to bottoms.
As numbers increased, I lost my fractured self, nestled within the dregs.
The pile turned into a heap; the heap into a mound and we joined
our jagged edges together, arm in arm, forming terraces, stepping stones,
retaining walls, and caverns to cool and store each harvest wine.
Before we were whole, we were broken. Before we could serve together,
we felt worthless. Now, those who are lost climb to our summit.
They dance the saltarella, catch a glimpse of vista,
and together, find their place in Rome.
Before you move to help, be still.
Put down your tools: your shovels, plows,
car keys, laptops, and phones. Hear your brain chattering,
If I only do this, then everything will be better. Watch that
thought climb the walls, swing from your mind's caged ceiling.
Watch it race around, picking up, laying down, and arranging—
always arranging! Watch.
Before you can be of use, be useless.
Prone and weak on the floor, helpless. Wonder
how it might feel if your neighbor rings your bell
and you cannot move to answer it. Hear the firefighter's axe
hack through your front door as you lie there, unwashed and unclothed.
Know the difference between the kind touch
and the rough handling. Surrender.
Before you tell others your plans for action, yield.
Close your mouth. Open your ears.
Bare your heart. Turn off your steady narrative.
Your story has no place here. Tune to the channels
of each frequency. Untwine them. Tease them apart.
Hear the loud, insistent drumming,
the soft breaths so often overlooked. Discern.
Before finding your place, lose yourself.
Wander the stacks in the great library of helpers.
Those dusty shelves contain wonders
that have little to do with you.
Give each page attention. Feel their weight in your palms.
Find yourself harder to define. Search for the boundary
between you and them. Question its very existence. Expand.