A Sabbath Poem (Oliver - 2)

THE FIST
~ 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, Beacon Press, 2006)