Monday, July 23, 2012

The Sun's Gifts


Huddled on a raised platform, covered in woven mats, and sheltered by heavy canvas against the wind and rain, a mother held her child close. Light flickered from candles placed throughout the tent, so it was difficult to make out the features of the two faces, one smooth with youth, the other beginning to show fine lines of time. They shared some similarities between them, dark hair and darker eyes, but inconstant light and heavily embroidered clothes obfuscated any real determination of true age besides “toddler” and “mother.”

The wind screamed and the child whimpered, clutching close to its mother.
“Hush, my child, hush. This, too, shall pass. Since the beginning, there have been many things which have changed the face of the earth. Some of them frightening in their coming, others slow, almost unnoticeable until much time has passed. They are numerous and be marked neither as good nor bad.

“In the beginning of our stories, there was dirt and stone and water.  The water rushed between the crevices in the stone and dirt, and leapt playfully, singing water’s joyous song. But the dirt gave way to the water, and thus the water could no longer play. Great fields of mud and water dotted the land, and the stone and rock rose above, exposed by the water’s play. The sun could not dry the expanses; they were too vast. But the sun heated the air, and the air began to move, much as the water had, though the air carried gifts from the sun.

“The air that moves we call wind.

“The wind carved out paths for the water, letting it flow again, and gave the sun’s gifts to the dirt and the rocks. Slowly, slowly, the sun’s gifts opened. They grew both up and down. They put down roots and netted together the dirt until the dirt became land. They clothed the naked stones in green and red and yellow. The roots prevented the water from running away with all the dirt and created more paths and adventures for the water to fall down. Some of the sun’s gifts went to live in the water, too. And as more time passed, the sun’s gifts, which we call plants, grew taller and taller. Some grew so tall that our ancestors turned their heads skywards towards the high branches and said, ‘We will live there.’

“So, we climbed the trees and built our homes in them. We built bridges between the the branches. We collected our water from the rain falling on the leaves.  We descended to hunt and gather and the climb in the mountains and frolic with the water.

“But now, strong  winds have come and our great trees have fallen. Their roots have come to see the sky and great pits are left where they once filled the earth. Our descent was not our choice: We are displaced, living on the same ground as that which we hunt. The wind has changed the way we live once again. Our traditional homes have been taken from us, but here we may find new life for, behold: The wind brings change. The wind brings new seeds, new life.”

The mother tousled her sleeping child’s hair. She smiled, amused, “I guess my stories are that boring, dear heart. Just remember, love, you are my life, my sun.”

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Come for Comfort

Walking,
bare feet slapping cool concrete,
I notice,
in an abscess in the clouds,
in the infection streaming through,
the form of
the
Life taker
the
Death bringer
the
Angel of unthinkable, unspeakable thoughts

Staring upward
as the image imprinted
on the backs of my eyes
I knew
He did not come for me,
and,
That did not comfort me.

His scythe raised above his head
as he rushed in for the harvest,
my eyes were glued to the shifting lighting
and ever knowing

He does not come for me.

A man and woman crossed my path
discussing philosophy
"Care not so much what other's think,"
 but that does not comfort me.

Progressing now,
the painted clouds
mutate forms again.
The body of the angel fades
and night begins its slow descent.
Still, I worry for my friend.

There is the fact that I would rather know
than live in mystery.

I knew he did not come for me
and still that did not comfort me.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Where'd I go, and Here I Am

Fell off the face of the Earth,
Baby doll.
Got mixed up in Space
and floated in the Music.

And trailed off into darkness-

post-sunset

And Love,
I would never

forget you

YET.

I falter

Time moves quickly
And I
am spinning
whirling dervish
grasping after colors
and clothes

but never holding on
for long

Oh Dear,
Now I write

like lists and
reminders;

The Post-it note
era of my existence.