18 Oct 2013

Windswept


morning comes abruptly
alarm-chime, heavy sigh, 
tug of sheets, stir of child, 
low-light around the kitchen bench. 

He is first to rise.
never used to,
now always.

I wrestle with the little one
breast or no,
this side of that
sleep more, please
grimace.

I begin the day
reluctantly,
a hot shower
and cup of tea
soften my fatigue.

He returns with
a rainbow in his hands,
I am struck by how
gentle that dead bird looks
beautiful, undiminished in stillness.

while playing on the deck
little one breaks a sprig of lavender
I have always loved the notion of
sprigs of flowers
on cotton calico,
on the carpet,
floating in a warm bath -
I take that lavender to my nose
and breathe in a fragrant peace.

the wind here howls
rattles panes, taps doors,
sways, bends, blows
moves through the cypress
like a tide creeping up
the shoreline.

waves of hair and dirt and grasses,
seeds, smog, lost thoughts.

I am becoming a wind lady
or at least I am learning to let go
and be windswept, untidy,
wild and free. 

7 comments:

  1. Em, this is one of my favorites of your poems.

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  2. Wonderful poem!! So rich in imagery and feeling.

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  3. why do you have images of a dead bird?

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    Replies
    1. Anonymous, the lines of the poem tell you - alex found this beautiful bird on his morning chores and brought it home to show us - the rainbow of feathers. I don't know how/why it died.

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  4. I've often found poetry too hard to understand in the past. Inaccessible to my simple mind. A little too cryptic. The form confusing. But yours is beautiful, poetic, story-telling. You paint a rich picture using all of your senses. Lovely. I read a beautiful Wendell berry poem today too; Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front. Seems appropriate for your farming life.

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