Ann Keiffer

Empty Bowl

The last leaves cling to wet trees
and I am hungry for deep silence.
My small bowl is empty,
not a single grain of rice
to share or eat.
I sigh
and sink
into the
of my body.
In the shelter of one votive’s light,
I lie listening to the rain,
drawing my bowl close,
feeling the shape of its truth:
my bowl is full…
of emptiness,
a hollowed place
made ready
for the feast to come
when I am satisfied with emptiness,
when I am full of silence.

Ann L. Keiffer
November, 1996


About Ann

I am interested in the strange beauty of brokenness, in transforming possibility in difficult times, in how we heal even when we can’t get better, in the alchemy of surrender, in the interplay of light and shadow, in the bounty of everyday wonders, in the gift of laughter…and writing about it, all and everything.

Recent Poems

Buy My Book