On the subway home from the first session of this week’s First degree Reiki class, playwright and poet Emma Goldman-Sherman penned a poem to memorialize her experience. I loved it, and she graciously agreed to share it will all of us.
is always like this — the unknown
stepping off the curb, the abyss,
to edge away from home
to search an unfamiliar arc of stars
no longer from this spot here
at this particular time of year,
or the body rearranging itself
to match a better plan,
or, according to magnetic poles, True North,
or, touching that long-standing numbness
turn to zings, the pins and needles
sparkling on the inside, diving the deep well,
or my heart, defrosting, slips off its nautilus shell
to become (maybe for the first time) decipherable.
— Emma Goldman-Sherman, NYC