Unravelling and weaving, sometimes simultaneously

Archive for April, 2013

House Wren

There’s a house wren nesting by my door

deep within the green

of a plant rescued from a compost pile

in a borrowed hanging basket

Five eggs

small white cabochons

nestle in the straw

sleeping as all infants do in the womb

probably dreaming

of whatever house wrens dream of

as they outgrow their little havens

readying to emerge

already preparing for flight

(c) RCGA, 2013

From the back of a bank envelope… sometime this month. Thanks to my friend Sondra for the photo of the wren’s nest in my airplane plant. As you can see, they were starting to crack, here.Image

 

Hope Crowfeathers

Once upon a time

a man whose voice I’d never heard

called me Hope Crowfeathers

and asked me to be his Valentine.

After that we talked for hours

over thousands of miles

while I sank into love

and he laughingly denied it.

He dared me to go to him

and I drove all night to do it,

meeting him bleary eyed in his driveway.

wondering who this man was

in the fedora

with his cockiness and glasses

and his Massachusetts accent.

He took me walking on a frozen beach

the same beach we married on the next year,

the one where I scattered his ashes

ten years later.

But that first time, with the ice crunching

under our shoes

we talked about heartbreak

about histories and herstories.

He sent me home knowing

we were only at the beginning

that by calling me Hope

he had given it to us both.

(c) RCGA 2013Image

So, these are going to be out of order. This one is from April 29th.

041013

Where am I?

Somewhere in your eyes

I got lost.

(c) RCGA, 2013

For April 10th. I should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque 😉

Vine

Lying next to you is the best thing

I have in my life…

something so overwhelming sometimes

I have to close my eyes against

the sense of fullness

that surrounds us.

With my head on your shoulder,

arm across your belly

nestled in your strong grasp

gentled for me

I feel as though I have been given

the most beautiful gift in the world

a growing thing

a vine of sweet communion

where my thoughts are your thoughts

and your dreams are mine

where there’s laughter

camaraderie

comfort and joy.

You are my best friend

keeper of my secrets

the quiet night rain

when I thought all hope had passed

in my soul’s drought

but then awakened in the dark

to the scent of ozone

and release

from the heavy cover of waiting.

There you are,

quenching my thirst

softening me,

embracing me,

coaxing me to grow again.

(c) RCGA, 2013

I have been writing steadily all month, but in a file and on paper… today I’m going to try to get some of the poems moved over, finish out the month here. It’s been an interesting time, doing this writing every day… I may take a break and then do it again. I have been in my “strange space” for a few days, reflective on what midlife is about, on gains and losses, chances taken and missed, etc. etc. I think the Universe likes me to stay on my toes, wants me to stop putting rocks in my pockets and just keep walking. God, life is amazing.

Portrait

I tap the brush inside the glass
looking at the layer laid

The canvas is as done as it will be

I never see what I am looking for
only what is

I suppose that’s all I can expect

Reality has a way of creeping
into all the best fantasies

Particularly fantasies that imply
communication

It doesn’t really look like you
I suppose

But the eyes

They do

That’s the part of you
that spoke the loudest

The part I should have listened to

While I had the chance
to trace you more closely

Not with cold pigments
but with my hands

(c) RCGA, 2013

Coyote

Image

I do not know what I am looking for;

from day to day my inner landscape shifts.

I pass through one, and there’s another door

that may shield poison, pain, or secret gifts. 

I see, though, who is loping by my side,

who has been there for what seems my whole life…

all trickster nonchalance, two-faced grin wide,

Coyote dances, yipping at my strife. 

Confusion is his currency, they say,

conniving old deceiver that he is. 

All I know is he tracks me, night and day,

misguiding me with sly catalysis.

My mountebank companion, sneak, turn-tail,

why did you choose to dog me on the trail?

(c) RCGA, 2013

Chalk Cat

kindhearted woman

This one is from yesterday… I took a day off from the computer. I’ve been losing and gaining days all week, thought yesterday was Sunday, now don’t know what day it is (well, really, I know it is Sunday, but it doesn’t *feel* like Sunday now).

The stray cat’s mournful ululations echo in the garage;

my heart is engaged

such a soft-headed, easy touch I am

for all sorts of strays.

My whole life, like my Mother,

I’ve collected, fed and housed them

because I have known want and need.

I would rather those that cross my path

like the black cat in the porch cochere

would walk on rested, with a full belly.

In the old days,

hobos marked the way to a “good woman”

with a chalk cat,

and I wonder, sometimes,

if I have been marked that way

to show the lost safe harbor.

(c) RCGA, 2013

 

 

 

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