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.”

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.

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.

Never was

i.

You take the stage

timid

afraid

of your own voice.

Your resolve wavers

in a quaking spotlight

sigh and silence

the piano picks up

and you begin to sing

ii.

She weaves a net of reality for herself

a cocoon

to keep her safe from

the smell of wet dirt

and a butterfly

sitting of a clump of soil in a potted plant,

injured and drowning slowly in sugared water.

She pulls these strings

together

Binds her soul tighter

and steps out into the dark

iii.

Why do what you do not love, darling?

Or do you love it,

pain aside?

An exquisite torture

timebomb ticking

off the seconds of exposure

Did the light blind you, child?

You are as much me as I ever was

Never was much

iv.

Resounding rejoinder and lament

a pure voice tainted

high in clear air

Your flight is arrested

cresting clouds and love and beyond

the horizon

a new world is waiting

opening

in strong lights

the curtain pulls aside

and you own this stage,

like my soul,

as yourself.

5 a.m.

Five a.m. finds me, Friday morning,
Like a long lost lover,
whose ship sunk at sea.
The embrace is weary
heavy on my shoulders
enlightening my racing heart
and mind
[(floating free
and
Drowning down)
A simultaneous conundrum]
Early morning takes me further
into predawn thoughts;
Falling asleep
and melting into
dew.

They had nothing to say to each other

They had nothing to say to each other.
Quite simply, they had exhausted all possible phrasings, rebuffs and and rebuttals. They sat on the cold front stoop of their solitary cabin, nestled amidst dramatically colored maples.
She sighed.
He turned, glancing at her over his shoulder. The sun was rising behind her, creating halos, making her angelic. The sigh that had escaped from her lips clouded in the late October air, swirling towards the cloudless sky. Why could she not understand? It was not his choice to go away. Leaving was one of the last things he wanted to do. But the paper crumpled in his pocket declared that he must.
He sighed, stretching, shivering from the brush of cold air around his belly, his neck, as his bomber jacket shifted with him. The concrete they sat on was cold, and frosted leaves crunched underfoot as he extended his legs. Could he run away? No. If he ran she be be as equally forbidden as if he went to where he was bid. He encircled her shoulders in his arm, entangled a hand in straight caramel hair. She leaned into him, breathing the sharp fall air, the old leather of his jacket, the faintest whiff of his cologne.
They had talked all night. She was tired, scared but accepting. There was no option in which he stayed. In any case, given a few months, her own summons would come, and she would answer the door, peering out into the hard noon light, into the stern faces of the officers who had come, finally, to take her away.
She reached her arm, untangling his hand from her hair, intertwining her fingers with his. She stood, bringing him with her, back through the door of the cabin, back up the stairs to the unslept-in bed. She placed a cool hand on his cheek, and they looked each other in the eyes. She nodded and he crumpled into her shoulder, crying. She led him to the edge of the bed, and sat beside him.
They would be woken by the harsh rappings at the cabin door, hours later. He would answer the summons now, and she would follow meager months later. They would meet again, in the city, the smog filled dome, no longer the same, still not strangers, but not quite friends.

Jerusalem Winter

Amidst the mist, a rainbow in the lights of the city,

prolonged joy melding with ever present

sadness

longing

a sense of urgency

drawing breath

and slow exhale.

Cold.

filling

as time and space

collide and in confusion, we repeat

raze and rebuild

raze and raise

Streets reveal countless memory and history

together we walked

in glory

and exile

swarming gateways and bridges

searching for an in

Golden Jerusalem,

washed and rainshined,

May I forget my own right hand

if I forget you,

and my tongue cleave to my palette,

so the I may sin(g) no more.

and so the mist rises,

raze and rebuild

be raised,

be rebuilt.