letter: lifting levers, love & kitchen table

a poem by Joy Harjo and a story of magic

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Perhaps the World Ends Here

by Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror.

A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.


"Perhaps the World Ends Here" from The Woman Who Fell From the Sky by Joy Harjo. Copyright 1994 by Joy Harjo.

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Dear Friends,

There are two stories I’d like to share with you today.

1

It’s cold in Texas and about to plunge into polar temps. I was grateful to receive a gift of a car-load of blankets, wool coats and sweaters, suitcases, a sleeping bag, paper plates, 2 flashlights and various survival-related sundries. These things came from the house of a retired professor with advanced dementia. Her brain neurons have lost connection with their friends, her other brain cells. She’s moved to an assisted living memory care unit and the house will be demolished, the land sold for new construction. I didn’t know her, but our mutual friend invited me into the home to salvage whatever could be used by people living outside.

This was the second carload. I handed out coats and blankets to folks downtown and placed the rest in big clear plastic bags on the border of the unhoused camp in my neighborhood with a “free” sign. (I don’t go into camps alone or at night.) I feel better, thinking about the people who would find the bags, choose things for themselves and warm up for a little while.

I hope the woman whose sweaters, coats, blankets and flashlights they were might also be warmed, feel safe, wrapped in support, even though she doesn’t know why.

2

The next day, I hired an acquaintance, Miranda, to help me move heavy things and book boxes. When she came over, she told me she’d had a dream the night before about a goddess figure named Bronwyn. She asked if I knew of any goddesses with that name. I was familiar with her: Bronwyn (Bronwen) is a a Welsh Celtic goddess, a maiden deity of spring and sovereignty who married the King of Ireland. In Celtic lore, she travels with a white raven, frees abused women and gives them a fresh start. She is the epitome of love and independence, ease of liberation for women and girls.

Miranda told me that in her dream, Brownyn the goddess was huge and shining, had the letters BB embroidered on her gown, and stood near her.

The way this day unfolded is astonishing.

Miranda was helping me move bookshelves. I had a copy of a 1990s title, What to Do When Your Child Has Been Molested, on the shelf. I don’t have a child myself but since I was such a child myself, I’d bought the book a while back. I wanted to read about what should have happened, were things different, were my parents able to respond and act. Miranda saw the title on my shelf. A few hours later, when our work was done, she broke down.

She said her own little girl, preschool aged, had made an outcry about being abused by her father, who lived separately. Miranda didn’t know what to do. She’d already called the police and CPS, which had done an investigation. However, when talking to authorities, the little girl denied her outcry and said she didn’t know. Apparently, Miranda’s account was considered only hearsay in Texas’ legal landscape. Without confirmation from the child, it wasn’t enough for legal action. (I share this story with her permission.)

Still, the little girl continued to act out, try alarming physical games, and feared going with her father alone. My friend didn’t know what to do. She and the child’s father don’t have a custody agreement. She had no money for a lawyer and was afraid that if she went to court for full custody, he would fight her and win full custody himself. I hear this fear from so many mothers.

I listened to Miranda’s story, thinking about how to connect her with an advocate, how to protect the little girl. I remembered with a flash: Bronwyn Blake, the Chief Legal Officer in charge of Texas Advocacy Project. It’s a nonprofit that provides free legal services to survivors of family and dating violence, sexual assault, and stalking in Texas. Bronwyn is a person of great energy and integrity. BB.

I wrote to Bronwyn with the details and asked if TAP could assist Miranda. She wrote back immediately with a yes and a legal intake form and connection to an advocate. What a goddess! The connection was created; no longer an impasse. I don’t know what will come of this, but know Miranda will get the best support available. And I see that things are larger and more interwoven than we can perceive.

Miranda’s dream foretold the help that was to come. Beings and communities can be infinitely powerful. The world moves in mysterious ways, the spider’s web glittering with dew.

I hope that you experience equanimity and your kitchen table is full of friends. May you find fulfilling ways to be of help and rest when you are tired. I invite you to a Digital Sabbath. Get some sunshine and take the air. Thank you for reading and for your attention.

xo,

Abriel

Art: Detail from the cover of John Hunt's The Ascent of Everest, 1954, and photograph of Ellen Harding Baker's “solar system” quilt, 1876–ca. 1883. Public Domain