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Issue 47/48 : January - June 2010 : Volume 12 No 3/4
Now I Am in Love
with frozen beach grass
the way it curves
above my head as
i crouch below
the way each
slender finger bends
the itch of
i am learning
how cold each night is
as i read the light
siberian winds paint this land
a different color.
Each Night in My Dreams I Am Vigilant to Mountains
cold air swallows me. i am
i start each day by riddling ashes. if i was a witch i'd scry
the future in the pattern of cinders. but i am not a witch—
i am a woman. i carry an ashpan outside, spread cinders
onto the road. as if i can control siberian winds! i cannot.
at least i can watch them for signs.
like snow-wracked skiddaw watches me, over my right
shoulder. i don't think a mountain knows what a woman
may dream. but i do know a mountain that follows every
move that i make. this is why, each night in my dreams,
i am vigilant to mountains.
may your last vision be a bloodred shimmer of light on distilled water
may you live in a land of pine cones and amber
may your days be as long as a broom handle your eyes as sharp as a needle
your arms as long as need be to reach out over oceans
may you always have shade in summer for hot days in the garden
may roses be the flower you water
may the boat you choose be as sturdy as a turtle shell
may the island you give birth to be as fantastic as jupiter!
may the sword of damocles never hang over your head
may the breath you blow come straight off the himalaya
and may the animal in you breed strong women strong enough
to carry fierce children in their wombs. may the horse you ride on
be the blue as the heavens you inhabit may the chariot of gods
always be wrapped in the curl of your hair and the instinctive
rituals you practice remain on beach mountain rocks and water
may the street you walk on never trip you up
may your legs be as strong as tomorrow!
may you swim to venus doing the butterfly crawl
and the first starry planet that falls in the leonids fall in the skies
above your head as you look up waiting for the moon to roll
and rest her sweet weight on the palm of your hand as you hold
the child you fathered gently may the baby
whose face looks up into your own
remind you of your roots.