Memory


Memory is the not-quite-living museum of our lives, and dusty.
You’re not sentenced to remain what you already are.
You may change, grow and split the hardened
carapace of a self that no longer fits,
and like the seven-year locust,
climb high into a tree and
claim your rebirth.
But first comes
mere courage
and  risk.

 

Distorted Passage


I swim in
streams and rivers
instead of on land,
looking up
through ripples
seeing mere refractions
of unknowns
filtered through milky moonlight.

Down small creeks,
under
branches splitting
the sky,
dark firs waving in
the breeze like monks
chanting,
and oaks bragging of age;
rocks and crags,
shifting, rippling,
dropping dappled shards of
sunlight on
crystal, chuckling waters.

In spring, the birdsong
coaxes the furled leaves out,
and enchants the forest.
The dawn flows down
hillsides like bronze-gold fire
and I, in my watery cocoon,
am under a spell.

Things skate around the edges,
we new things, like
larvae burrowing in the sand,
or peering with fearful eyes from
under rocks;
hiding, growing,
wary of hungers everywhere.

With the rains
flowing from all sides
the waters puff and
the inexorable,
invisible, seductive,
irresistible waves
of gravity pull us all
to reunion with the
mother of
all waters.

Spring


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Put your ear to the air.

Tune your senses to the long rhythms…

The sun is daily higher,

It knocks harder on grave’s door:

Beneath in the icy ground,

Life warms from near death

Shudders and swells and pushes against

The things that would keep it cold:

Listen….

Tune your senses to the long rhythms,

Close your eyes and see.

Billions of trillions of millions of tiny,

urgent things stir, move,

Grow from nothing to everything.

The shoving and shifting and yearning

Makes a soundless roar we feel through our feet.

The Earth…. She stretches and yawns.

In The Distant Past


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Found this morning on Writer’s Almanac. Men– if we’re completely honest–are envious of women, as a group, in some rather superficial ways, but particularly in the birthing abilities she talks about–that we will never have. It is a power that is beyond us. We know it. And you know we know it. And we know you know we know it. 

by Carrie Fountain

Things weren’t very specific
when I was in labor,

yet everything was
there, suddenly: all that

my body had known,
even things I’d only been

Continue reading “In The Distant Past”