Maya Naumann

Full of emptiness

Listening for the echo of emptiness,
is it still there? Still empty?
Please echo, throw back the sound of something!
Hit on a substance, a presence, a growing thing.

The farmer plants, waters, feeds and knows-
watching will become seeing.
Sounding out the ground,
what was empty will become full.

The earth makes no empty promise,
life is always growing in it.
My unfilled womb does not pledge the same.
It says maybe. Maybe not.

In the watching, waiting, anticipating,
let not this heart forget how full it is.

Life of loss

I put this bit down, there in the darkness
away from what is presentable,
I hand it to the worms.
Bring your fresh soil smell to this decaying matter!

Break it down into worm-mouth bite-sized pieces.
No longer to be identified, no longer named, no longer there.
Swallow it away.
Pass it through worm-tract, to return as compost.

Worms, come do your work!
I put this in its grave to be made new.
Naming the loss, a sudden gift.
Loss that is full of grace.

What falls to the ground and dies produces life.
Loss is gift, I know that.

Maya Naumann

Moving on

I cling to what I’ve got,
fearing my quota has been dealt.

What if it’s true
that morning gold belongs to the young?

The firm fleshed, fresh faced,
forever behind me now.

Have I no duty to keep it with me?
Sparkles for today from yesterday.

Gold shimmers in every year –
it has been sprinkled generously.

But what if there will be no more,
the storeroom closed?

I will only know if I go forward.
Un-dig my dragging heels,

and be lifted out of the sand
allowing distance between then and now.