SURFACING

SURFACING

 

The small woman was awakened

by a night jar

zooming past her window

like a space craft, over and again;

his electric cry an alien invasion

in her bare dreams.

 

Then a wee bird tipped out a song,

morning was just a few miles east,

heading this way.

 

In the dark of a damp morning,

the woman gave myself permission

to return to sleep, teetering for a moment

on the brink, breathing, eyes closed

against what would soon be her fate.

 

But something stronger, lovelier than she,

some god-like surge within,

swung her legs over the side of the bed:

She was up. And the night jar sped away

to whatever planet he comes from.

And the wee bird who had piped

the opening note was joined

by the forest chamber orchestra.

 

Wielding a toothbrush as baton,

the small woman conducted,

pianissimo at first,

Vigils and Morning Prayer,

rounding to a rousing and-ever-shall-be,

Amen.

So far she’s awakened the wind,

but the clouds have yet to flee.

 

Reviews

[Quinn Blackburn]

lovely work. your themes consistently appeal to me, and each piece is a beautifully and lovingly woven wordcrafting. well done!

[Eric]

Love the sacred theme I see in the few poems you've posted -- subtle, but present none-the-less. You've captured my attention, my imagination.

What will you do next? I wonder.

Eric