Let the monster rest (after Jane Kenyon’s Let Evening Come)

Let the taut strings of the nerves lengthen

and slacken in the arms and legs,

draw in the strummer’s claws.

Let the stomach rise gently with each breath,

the way bread rises with a woodstove’s

warmth. Let the monster rest. 

Let the eyes see the clouds meander

in the sky. Let the hands still and hold

steady the curved cup of afternoon tea.

Let the heart go back to its wholesome beat.

Let the blood hush. Let the air

cup its palm to our cheek. Let the monster rest.

To the nails ragged on the fingers, to the twist

in the limbs, to the wretched in the voice,

let the monster rest.

Let it rest, as it must, and don’t

be afraid. Life does not leave us

comfortless, so let the monster rest.