The Fist (Monday Poem)

 by Mary Oliver

There are days

when the sun goes down

like a fist

though of course

if you see anything

in the heavens

in this way

you had better get

your eyes checked

or, better still,

your diminished spirit.

The heavens

 

have no fist,

or wouldn't they have been

shaking it

for a thousand years now,

 

and even

longer than that,

at the dull, brutish

ways of mankind--

 

heaven's own

creation?

Instead: such patience!

Such willingness

 

to let us continue!

To hear, 

little by little,

the voices--

 

only, so far, in

pockets of the world--

suggesting

the possibilities

 

of peace?

Keep looking.

Behold how the fist opens

with invitation.

 

from Thirst by Mary Oliver

Beacon Press, 2006