“Ad Vitam”
You ask
and I say delicious
(that cell/splitting glory that
unfolds until we expire)
angels on fire
come remind us
that this life
is just a prayer
we have been
rendezvousing with the dead
in the small hours
they say death is nothing
but a change of clothes
and setting the stage before
the next act
we are corpsing
our way
through a comedy hour
so as not to let on
that we are amused
so as not to expose ourselves
as alive
while they climb Jacob’s ladder
we drive along the coast and
make waves with
one hand out the window
pushing through air with an open palm
and it is our prayer
(all this living
is just a prayer)
The First Thought Was “Yes”
Â
this business of 
creating worlds
comes naturally to
the child who,
in her closeness
to God,
abandons doubt
and boldly fashions
her reality
though every authority
in her life
tells her NO
(her mother,
her father,
her teachers,
and peers)
she disregards her
obligation to comply
and makes airplanes out of paper,
castles out of sand,
and wings out of duct tape
and feathers
her dreams materialize
before her eyes
in response to
the organization
of her thoughts
thoughts—
the focused collation of desire,
the force that precedes
the birth
and arrival
of matter,
the essence that
breathes life into form,
the source that gives
substance
to all we see—
the child knows
in her innocence
that she is not
the first thinker
nor is she the most innovative
or original at that—
she knows that
consciousness
gave rise
to genesis
that her origins
are ancient
and her inception
sacred
inception—
that moment when
every hidden potential
appeared at once
to the pure and settled mind,
when everything
that
would ultimately manifest
revealed its face as a promise
of what could be—
when Peace Beyond Knowing
was once aroused and
invited to react
and even the child knows
that its first thought
was YesÂ
“Woman, be another god”
Come in like a fool
and let me dance with you.
I might not kiss you yet;
I may never need to.
Melt life’s ice and remember
the hard heart’s only work
is to throb
in this young universe.
I had seen you—
you were with ghosts.
But now this self is waking.
Go from your prison
like those gods from hell sky.
Magic may make you
live after all.
(This girl’s spirit is kind, I know.
She is quiet like peace.
Some men like to go fast,
but boy, I want her musically.)
Woman, watch what you want.
Need less and live frugally.
Sing. Let music put a stop
to your sordid urges.
Some goddess beneath your skin
is shining.
Never compare joy to his touch.
Trust that time lifts another
beside you.
Thousands will give their
hearts away
wishing you were theirs.
(Look: this life is full.
She should want a true thing.
She should want them all.)
Woman, be another god.
Look out on we, the tiny.
Smile at your work,
make your spirit strong, and
come make it lively.
Here, the faithful must
receive time:
(We who would be loving.)
Some rhythm haunts this day.
This wild cup bleeds over
and you look good in champagne.
Slowly smoke the will of
sacred desiring;
the secret is never needing.
Dance with a child, sister.
We open our hearts to breathe.
(We wake universes
and God is blushing.)
© 2017, Julie Henderson
This collection of short poems was composed between 2016-2017 within the University of San Francisco’s Writing MFA program in Poetry.
