Tag Archives: Mary Everitt

TRANSITIONS

By Mary Everitt

seasons don’t change all at once
but you can feel the start of them.
the distinct shift in the air.
the leaves against your window dappled with color
vibrant, painted
others spotted so slightly they look diseased.
we obsess over the romance of autumn –
it is ever so
ambient, cozy.

but do we speak of the beauty of decay?
that last leaf 
clinging, quivering
on the tallest branch where the wind is strongest
its edges curled
its color rusty like a forgotten truck with sunken wheels.
it’s easy to distinguish up there
against this crisp October sky.
at some unknown moment, it will drop
floating, soundless
to get tangled in the bushes below
or merge with the rest of its former companions
brown, undistinguishable
mulching the earth for frosts to come.

my guess is tomorrow
that branch will be bare,
a finger reaching up into the clouds beckoning rain.
that leaf was the first of many signs
that what absorbs light and nourishes life
may change, must change
to continue the cycle
to let the roots go deep
to weather the snow and the sleet
with the promise of spring’s new life.
dogwood blossoms that crown the clouds in perfume
and shade the growing grasses of spring.
for now. little leaf, that fluttered
high, free
i see you. 
thank you. 
goodnight.


Mary Everitt writes from the intersections of what she feels, believes, and sees. She writes about beauty and brokenness, the insides and the outsides of the spaces she exists in. Find her on Instagram or on her website.

TEA

By Mary Everitt

Pale yellow jasmine
Cracked white porcelain pot
With an oily dark stain around the rubber covered spout
Om, my elderly landlord offers his wordless morning welcome.
Endless cups of weak, bitter, floral water.
Orange, sweet, earthy and sour
Iced with sugar and lime
Sucked down with morning noodles
Assam, steeped dark with half and half
Forgotten in corners, on books, tabletops
Reheated endlessly
Housemate who taught me through his reverent waiting
For the first morning cup
Where matcha ceremony held beloved memory
Of a distant childhood, years and oceans away.
Chasen and bowl adorning the designated counter
Ritual, pleasure, hospitality
connecting past and present

an apartment
full of mismatched love-attached mugs
individual tea bags
in this individualist land
of single servings

hands spoon convex warmth
steam curls over closed eyelids
lulling the senses into quiet attention
soothing the spirit into expectant adoration
stirring the mind into thoughts that swirl into mist and focus on
pictures, questions, places
why is this the first question across language and culture?
often just a wordless pour.
Why is this the instinctual comfort?
In waiting
In between
As a stranger
In beginning
As the night grows late
Maybe
Its what you can control
Its love
Its hospitality
Its medicine
Its tradition
Its tea.


Mary Everitt writes from the intersections of what she feels, believes, and sees. She writes about beauty and brokenness, the insides and the outsides of the spaces she exists in. Find her on Instagram or on her website.

PRECIPITATING REST

By Mary Everitt

The nighttime jazz of rainfall beats
against the window.
Scoring another shift
into waiting rest.
Stiff-necked movements
Candle lighting
Bent knees evoke prayer
Rituals.

Asking God to 
Take over
Stay over
Sing over
My dreams.

Bodies shift into 
New ways of being
Weariness reaches through my skin
To pull soft fleece closer
Containing, soothing, holding—
The work of love in this world
Acknowledging my fragility
Within and without

Face tilts up to a blessing
Of love that listens and holds
Beyond the shadows growing
Whatever lies around the bend
Waiting, fighting, laboring
With the demons
Within and without

The rain drums on with
fingertips, a lullaby
Too cold to wash in,
Too soft to drown my thoughts
Punctuating murmurs
of tomorrows to come.


Mary Everitt writes from the intersections of what she feels, believes, and sees. She writes about beauty and brokenness, the insides and the outsides of the spaces she exists in. Find her on Instagram or on her website.