The Sestina

I did it. I made it through the April "write-a-poem-a-day" month-long challenge. If you asked me what the hardest day was I'll tell you simply...Day 28...and the Sestina. I'd never heard of the form before and it required a bicycle tire pump to keep my left brain inflated enough to keep track of the formula.

You've got seven stanzas...the first six are six lines long and the seventh is three lines...six words are used to end the lines of the stanza and appear in a rotating math formula....in the seventh stanza two words appear in each line.

I know. My eyes were crossed by that point too! Making it through the challenge hinged on this though, so I was determined...grrrr. Many crumpled sheets of paper later I let go and let my mind create a painting. Once I had the visual, I picked six words from that visual and wrote them down in the order of the whole poem. Now I had the frame to hang a story on.

The Tulips

Sleepy morning had only opened one eye of light
while she'd been to market and back. Packages and tulips
litter the table, her hands cooling under running water,
knowing just which vase she wants, curving
through slices of sun, she opens
the cabinet and her hair falls.

Wave upon dark wave crests and falls
like carved mahogany polished with light,
one hand closing pulls it back, one hand opens
to the jar that will hold the tulips
waiting on the table, stems curving
to the sound of promising water.

She washes the vessel and halves it with water,
cuts the stem ends--a broken leaf falls,
behind on the white wall, her shadow curving,
but she doesn't see, eyes closed in the light.
The first time they met he bought her some tulips,
the magic phrase, "before the war," and her memory opens.

He told her he loved when a closed bud opens
and asked her to marry him down by the water,
he had hidden her ring inside one of the tulips.
She pushes him over, laughing he falls.
Remembering, she laughs with her ring in the light
round her finger, curving.

So long since she clung to him in their goodbye, curving
into the scratch of his uniform. Her mouth opens
to taste his promise on afternoon's light,
quenching her thirst with cool, clear water
she stirs the stew, awaiting the sound of his foot-falls,
the table set for two, with tulips.

He promised to come home if she kept tulips.
He had whispered it softly into her ear's curving,
"With two lips home waiting, a man never falls."
At the stroke of sunset the matchbox opens,
she flames the candle's glow on petals, glass and water,
a pleading, calling light.

A stub of candle's light kisses tulips
in a jar of water, abandoned lines curving.
The front door opens. Into his two lips, at last she falls.

When Christ & Mohammed Meet

When Christ and
Mohammed meet
they greet one another
as loving brothers
why can't we do the same
must it be Crusades
in their name for
more accursed gain

They both speak of Love
and what we're made of
choices and voices
and reason
rejoicing and fasting
in season
intent and service
and freedom

They both shed tears
over follies and fears
man's inhumanity
to man
human calamity
to land
buried oil in a sea
of sand

When Christ and
Mohammed meet
they take their seats
as prophets of peace
and greet one another
as loving brothers
why can't we do the same
end the Crusades
in their name for
some accursed gain

Then we will meet
and greet one another
as sisters and brothers
in Christ and
Mohammed's name
and cleanse the
bloody stain
from the cross
from the crescent moon
dragonflies land on
the soldiers tomb
and its shadow lifts
from a maiden's womb

On The Wind

I am no cultivated flower
no product nor progeny
of home soil
no homecoming queen
nor conquering hero
defined
by lines made in sand
nations of the moment

my seed was born wild and
carried on the wind
sprouted crossing seas and
storms of intimate darkness
roots reaching somewhere
just beyond the moment
somewhere between the atoms

I will touch lightly the lands
I light upon
rest sweetly a moment on the
breast of the mother
seeking all my days her
secret and sacred spaces

to birth myself again and again
until my robes shred and
fly on the wind like the
fading coloured prayer flags
on a distant high plateau

Of Balance and Sweet Mystery

Grandmother Grandmother my heart is your drum
in seasons that have passed and in seasons to come
Grandmother Grandmother unbraid my hair
bathe me in sweetgrass be with me in prayer
Grandmother Grandmother wash me in light
wrap me in mystery's indigo night
Grandmother Grandmother take me to your breast
feed me your wisdom and comfort my quest

Grandaughter Grandaughter your heart is my drum
in past times of being and times yet to come
Grandaughter Grandaughter let me comb your hair
light up the sage, let me wrap you in prayer
sweet mystery there
the depth a woman shares

Grandfather Grandfather my hands are your fire
trusting and dancing are all that's required
Grandfather Grandfather I braid back my hair
and set to the work we humans all share
Grandfather Grandfather help me today
among my relations I touch on the way
Grandfather Grandfather walk by my side
in rhythm with my heart and the ocean's tide

Grandaughter Grandaughter your hands are my fire
open and ready to do what's required
Grandaughter Grandaughter walk here by me
we'll share the stories, the ones yet to be
sweet mystery
the distance a man can see

In the distant depths of my chemical sea
Grandmother, Grandfather
the God that made me
when I need counsel
the balance I see
is to walk beside Him and
sit next to She
when I need counsel
the balance I see
is to walk beside Him and
sit next to She