I wrote this poem for the gifted daughter of a friend, years ago:
At the time, she was setting off to art school, if I recall correctly.
I wanted to encourage, and forewarn, her...
Dear Emma,
Because you are a lover and an artist,
you will have occasion (many, actually)
to open your chest… pull out a ruby…
offer it to The World (or someone in The World)…
and it will be received with as much enthusiasm
as a piece of gum. Chewed, slathered upon, and spat.
Out.
This happens to ruby-hearted people who are responsible
for bringing through every shade of red in the spectrum,
from the gentlest pink to the baddest-assed bordeaux.
This is no small role to play — carrying around rubies
in your heart — and offering the spectrum of red,
the tastes of strawberries and mesquite, the squealing sounds
of pain and delight, the heat of hugs and blazes.
We, heart-bearers of red rubies love and create
like no one’s business because, for us, it ain’t business.
It’s beingness.
And on those days when your beingness feels
chewed, slathered upon, and spat.
Out.
Know with great certainty that nothing is wasted.
Everything is useful for the deepening of your pigment…
the deliciousizing of your flavor… the longevity of your flames.
It’s all good. Eventually. Assuredly. Good. All of it.