This Next Tenderness

 In a time of turmoil and harshness I find myself moved to view the world–the public one we share and my own private one–with a kind of tenderness. With a spirit of forgiveness. With the knowledge, that we have to live with its flaws, yes, but also with a search for what brings us peace, for what allows us to act with gentleness and generosity. Here’s the title poem:

This Next Tenderness

The way he does it is
when the soap melts down to a sliver, he
pancakes it to the new bar–good and good,
more and more, like and like. And the way

she does it is
she drops the thin scrap onto the shower drain
to wash away, takes a fresh cake from the drawer,
weighs the heft and smoothness in her hand. That too,

she calls it cake, he calls it bar–vanilla/chocolate,
no right, no wrong, only an unhurried drift
as the passion to merge transforms into
a sanctity of differences, not black/white but

softer, maybe blue/green or shades of taupe
with borders opened out, enfolding both
builder of cairn and discarder of shard, marking
sacred ground for savoring of this, of that.

What people are saying…

“With curiosity and acceptance, the poems move on the page like autumn leaves. In such delightfully precise lyrical pieces such as “Looking through the bone,” Ellen Steinbaum evidences a life dedicated to the pursuit of empathy, of understanding the challenges of loss and tragedy in the context of some greater design that shows life is everywhere, even overwhelming at times in its abundance. Such is the poet’s wisdom and tenderness.”

—Afaa M. Weaver 尉雅風