18 Oct 2013


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

I begin the day
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. 


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

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

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

    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.

  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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