Observation.
The ability for the body and spirit to heal is incredible. Still, after nine years, the eve of the anniversary of my mother’s death still resonates.
It’s like a bell.
A sudden wakefulness of the soul that recalls:
Oh, yes. Continue reading
Mother, I think of you:
I see the gardens of a mother’s mother’s mother,
the dusty roads of Spain,
the cobblestones of Italy.
I can see your golden hair in the sun of it all
and in the water of the river,
a young girl dips a pail,
not knowing what her womb will bear.
And an ocean parts the two of you;
A deeper ocean parts me from you.
A bird flew from her fingertips,
a little sparrow,
a little dream,
a little daughter.
Mother, I dream of you,
and I see the joined hands of our recent separation:
the dusty road of Dallas,
concrete of a modern city.
I can see your golden hair upon the pillow beneath it all
and in the water of a tear,
your young girl dips her pail –
who knows what her womb will bear.
And an ocean parts the two of you;
A deeper ocean keeps me from you.
A bird flew from your fingertips…
a little sparrow,
a little dream,
a little daughter.
His wings skimmed against the water
reflections of reeds rippling, breaking down
the kingfisher
coming in for an emergency landing…
His beak showed the weathering
of five springs and summers long gone
the kingfisher
recovering from an unexpected battle
What a spring it was
for the kingfisher
What a world now
for the kingfisher
Tufts of feathers trailed behind him
pieces of him snowing as he fell
the kingfisher
falling hard in the shallow end
What a spring it was
for the kingfisher
What a world now
for the kingfisher
Fingers on the
windowsill
I
press
my
flesh
down
and stand on my toes
trying to get a glimpse of you
I’m going to need more boxes
higher heels
When I hear
laughter
when I hear
someone else’s joy
it’s like the
curtains
are
lifted
by
the
wind
and I can almost see you
…like we’re running
playing a game
in laundry
hanging to dry
in the sun
