Friday, February 12, 2010

Winter Poem 2002

PRAIRIE WINTER 2002

Polly Alice

 

Winter, he rings the frozen pond like a gong

He stirs last summer’s grass to chime

tink ting-rush

 

He hums a royal blue fugue to the moon

on a blue-white night--

Shhh . . .  He silences

 

every whisker, shirr, and trissle

every creek, pip, and scrunch

I consult his readings

 

He in turn kisses my cheeks red

with beard scuffed whispers

Listen to his new song--

 

the red vine, the wick

grey branch bending in his gale

Here me now in this day,

 

sitting on this rock  in

the cold-shouldered sun

The sky a white prairie

 

Here I am waiting

among all other voices

for you to hear me

 

My hands as cold as my heart

and as barren as this mown field

only living if planted in your dark

 

soil, hoping for a green world of words

to uncurl from this long winter

Now is the time for rest





Winter 2002 (original version adapted from the handwritten notes while on winter retreat in Northern Minnesota with my only companions, a cabin, a small wood stove, a portrait of St. Claire, an orange barn cat, four nuns who ran the farm, a mown down labyrinth, and a book of roses.)

He rings the frozen pond like a gong
He stirs last summer’s grass to chime
tink ting-rush

He hums a royal blue fugue to the moon
on a blue white night--

Shhh . . .  He silences
every whisker, shirr, and trissle
every creek, pip, and scrunch

I consult his opinion
He,  intern, kisses my cheeks red
with beard scuffed whispers

Listen to his new accent--
the red vine, the wick
grey branch bending in his gail

Here me now in his poem, lost
among all other voices
Here I am waiting

only living if planted in your dark
soul, hoping for a green world of words

Now is the time for peace and rest

~

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