No Need for Words

No Need for Words

Epigram:  “Imagine the time the particle you are
returns to where it came from.” - Rumi

Oh Mother moon, teacher of mysteries,
you brought me here in your light,
they brought me home in you fullness.
Now, I come each night to greet you.
I praise your fingernails
growing long and round.
There are such stories sewn into
your black, yellow, white,
red and orange robes.
Robes you change as often
as your tales.
In the tower of midnight I sit
as you sing your secrets into the universe.
What the night knows,
the moon knows,
and more!
What we each know is what you tell us.
What we remember is sown into the robes you wrap around us.

we are here to remember – to join you and dance.
Your sister moons across the cosmos
also call to us to remember –
we are not alone – we are not separate – we are one breath
inhaling, exhaling, spinning, remembering, celebrating,
growing our fingernails long and round,
scratching names and stories into the clay of earth.
The stories I remember cannot be told
except in your presence –
And then, only in the language of youth, the language of the womb,
the language of the universe,
when there is no need for words.

Boy Walking On The Road

Boy Walking on the Road

Today I saw young boy
walking at the edge of a country road.
His body misshapen
yet his gait firm and determined,
an MP3 player plugged into his ears.

Was he shutting out a world
of stares and schoolhouse taunts?
Was he orchestrating, choreographing
a life beyond the twisted body?
Was he the prophet for this day?

I wanted to take him up -
wrap him in my arms –
fly him away -
baptize him in the lake
of straight-boned boys.

I wanted everyone
to see only his soul.
To have each of us
touch his body
with tenderness.

I wanted a world of grace
and blessings for those
who teach us, by their presence,
what each day can hold and that
a prayer lies always waiting on the skin.

There Were No Circus Tickets

There Were No Circus Tickets

when I was a child.
Poor is what my neighbors were.
I thought everyone lived this way.
Christmas 1953 we got a television
but my younger sister was so sick she
wouldn’t even get up to watch or open her presents.
Later I watched the circus from
the box in the living room
and began to dream.

My father never denied us what was free
or that he could make.
Soon, a swing set sprang into the back yard
made from discarded pipe he painted green
complete with a hanging bar from smaller pipe.
I became a traipse artist
hanging first from knees,
then ankles
and soon from just one ankle –

Oh, I was glorious swinging
one foot wrapped around the chain.
I was performing, the trees applauded
and the chickens sang.
Elephants and the exotic animals
from “Jungle Boy” on Saturday morning TV
all paraded through our yard
as I would swing-sway, then
tight-rope across the top pipe.

There was no stopping me
in my own amazing circus
as I wrapped myself in cotton shorts –
a daisy chain halo circling my hair.
Singing calliope music in my mind.
I even perfected the bicycle - first with no hands
later I could stand on the seat my arms outstretched and free
no small task on a country rock based road.
It was the best free circus anyone ever saw.

It Seems You Have Forgotten Me.

It Seems You Have Forgotten Me

It seems you have forgotten me,
and I toil each day with your memory
coiled deep in my body as you once were,
a gentle spark leaning toward a moving.

I should have known
when you walked early,
it might also be far,
yet I never dreamed it would be away.

I remember, your small small hand
curled around my finger;
how you stumbled room to room
looking for something I could not fathom.

I remember your dark hair,
foamy with shampoo,
how you laughed when I spiked
and curled and rinsed it in the tub.

I remember dresses and boots
and coats in every size and color,
summer shorts and pants
and pleasure in your eyes,

I remember, gifts and giving,
how, when you finally had real money
you bought me a birthstone ring,
rubies spiraling the finger you once grasped.

Everything you are echoes through
the blood we share
your gentleness, indignation, caring,
always always, always your red and robust laughter.

I am walking, motherless now,
toward another birthday
anxious for your voice or presence, any
indication that you have not forgotten me!