poem: A Sunny Day in June

We, who never learned to be content

tending just one home, only one heart.

Never homeless, but maybe unbound-

understanding, home is where calls to

you, not where random selection put

you. Life more cyclical, then: closer to

the internal heartbeat, the electronic

pulses we learned to outgrow in our

becoming civilized adults; bound more

strongly to rules of biology and physics

than to the flag of any one nation's God.

 

Women of the world of our grand

mothers and others' grand children;

lovers of the dew underfoot in June and

the way the wind will give you the answer

you need if you sit still long enough to listen

to it. Leaves, changing through time, each

stage one of unequalled beauty related to,

built upon, but never replicating what came

before. This, the way we can be sure only of

each given moment, of each breath we said

would exhale great and small secrets, today.

 

The surety, lonely in each moment, yet

never alone; the web of every life you

touched a great unknown but tangible

as the oak you sit beneath when the world

spins too fast and you need roots, and

granite underfoot. Ask the dogs, because

they know. They tell the truth, in all ways.

The way we were before other peoples’

truths shut us into roles and made us

learn a script, the way we knew when we

looked at planetary alignments like tonight

that all moments are special, but some people,

some moments grew more special than most.

 

This is for being of the sisterhood of universal

citizenship; the tribe of women who are

rewriting archetypes through detailed

note-taking and out-taking. For understanding:

home requires roots and roots, granite, but

the right granite may be found in more than

one place. It is the knowing that there is

granite, that counts. Substance calls soul, and

vice-versa. And for all the ones who took your

hand, looked you in the eye over the years,

and said, you inspired me to be more than I

thought I could. Children of leaves and dew,

sometimes as melancholy as wind but blessed

as the undeniable truth of a sunny day in June.

 

 

para CP, on her birthday

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

home can be different places, but it is sad that our internal heartbeat gets fainter as we grow up and face what the world throws at us...we do become more granite...

but if substance still calls the soul...then hopefully we can feel blessed, appreciate what we have, and let the heart beat joyfully and with reckless abandon once again.

such a thoughtful write.