April 28, 2018

she be my ---->pixie ornithological entropic maternal, poem ... #NaPoWriMo2018 Day 28

Woman Encircled by the Flight of a Bird, 1941
by Joan Miró


I don't understand what she does to me 
I don't understand any destiny 
without her in orbit next to me 

there were loaf pans 
we filled with nut meats 
other treasures broken open 
gold yolk yoked souls, mostly 
there we were 
wanting to be 
pimentos, see ... 

filling fillers 
everywhere 
read holes 
red tolls 
cheddar béchamel 
screamed 
what can we tell 
expressions we make 
melted cheese 
at the gates ... 

I had become 
a loam dark under 
her nails 
we carried pails 
for worms 
and water 
and we put bottles of pop 
in the kill to keep cold 
while we worked 
on working on 
what we did to 
stay strong 
to the cause 
of joy ... 

when Winter breaks 
its tenacious hold 
upon scrabbled bound places 
there emerges 
a nurturing love 
to grab hold of 
it is in the air 
in the rain 
in the way 
grackles, robins and wrens 
scour the emerging green grasses 
for seeds that Persephone passes 
having wombed wearing 
every human's outer shell 
a Winter in Hell 
is warmer and healthier 
than you know ...

what is it 
you declare 
as being needed 
when a day unfurls 
singing sweetly 
a lover, 
another reason 
to press your lips 
against hers ...

morning stretches out 
a lazy dog laconacy
fog wrapped early wondrous 
dark to grey light 
giving way 
southerlies bunted 
yellow Sun 
blue sky day ...

I hear the neighbors mill about 
early on this Saturday 
I distill myself further 
selfishly nostalgic 
with enough coffee to make an elephant 
want to break dance ...

and as so often happens 
I wandered upon a thought 
intersecting with a friend 
and danced a begin, myself 
thinking about cartoons 
and big ol' bowls of cereal 
and how for that one special 
Saturday a month 
when the cartoons ended 
religious programming 
and early info-mercials 
gave way to creature features 
or kung fu double shots 
and those were 
and the days 
we would wing 
we were there 
pining for glory 
and it to be 
forever a Saturday 
morning in Spring ...

EJR ©

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