Yellowing
—Poems and Photos by Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
THE WORLD . . . THE SUN
When the sun came out this morning, it burned a
hole in the sky and spilled its black ashes around
and whatever dared to look at it was stricken with
stabbing color—rings of nausea—jagged patterns
of blindness. The dark hole of the sky filled with
blessing—the light pouring in—in all its radiance.
When the sun came out this morning, everything
that was too fragile thrived then shriveled.
Know that this light is forever. It borders the
cold world and the cold heart alike. It wobbles,
then settles into a golden ring. Bask in it . . . bask
in it . . . let it heal whatever can bear such healing.
Fire in the Leaf
THE LIGHT AS GIFT
“flowers were dressed in nothing but light.”
—Mary Oliver
It was
as if the light
gave itself away to
everything—especially the
flowers.
Remember When
THE WIFE OF THE SLEEPING MAN
After Bedroom with Fire by JMW Turner, 1827
Now she would truly know, as though—
as though—all her well-read words would
train her mind to memorize. This was a
cozy night, her crossed feet were bare,
someone sleeping there—nearby—
and the room was warm enough to read
from a treasured book that took all her life
to read. She was the watchful wife of the
sleeping man who dreamed in his sleep,
as if she was not there. And they lived
like this : he on his couch, and she
in her reading chair, though she never
turned a page, and he never turned to a
more comfortable position, and the fire-
place never burned down—and this was
their perfection : a sing-song life without
any strife, and no ambition, and they were
content, as though it was meant to be like this.
The Vessel
THE WAY YOU LINGER
You float—as all things float—in distant thought,
no longer real or found in designed distance.
How can you not realize where you are?
~
You call me, weeping. I am closed to your voice,
cannot grant a solace to your tears, which pour
through the phone and burn my ear, my cruel mouth.
~
Somewhere in sleep, you dream my life again.
I cannot make out the dream from here. My mind
is a white line on a white page. It becomes a road.
~
You are walking toward me.
Prayers
PERSPECTIVE
After Three Men Walking by Giacometti, 1948
Walking out from the center of the mirror, I face
three directions and am at once at the mercy of
three compulsions. Thus am I split into the three
measurements of existence: I am past, present,
and future. But, still, I am of the mirror—that
mothering eye that will not diminish or release,
but only gives me a glimpse of illusion—that
bordering reach—that drifts off the fathomless
edge around me. If only I can pull away at the
exact moment, I will escape the unguarded blink
that must occur. Even now, I can feel my three
selves slip the magnetic hold of my own fear
and reluctance—that pull at the weakening
center—if only I am that brave—if only I can
break my own trance, and that of the mirror.
(first pub. in Tiger's Eye, 2001/02)
The Grieving
REMEMBERING DANNY
(Mother Ryder’s Home for Children, c. 1932)
Danny has shown me how to hold a blade
of field grass to make it whistle. I have a
skill now. I can make music of the grass.
~~~
Shy Danny has never teased shy me.
We twist on the swings. Time is not
here yet. We wait for it in the dusk.
~~~
"Danny, will you miss me . . . . Danny
will you remember me?" We touch our
knees together at the bottom of
the three cement steps that lead
down to a locked door. One of us
must leave. We are eight years old.
(first pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 2010)
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
CALL TO MIND
—Joyce Odam
Fragment only of the word I lost.
Let it return, new and unused,
like a curse not uttered,
like a prayer there was no word for,
like the gift of silence
meant for the art of listening.
_______________________
Many thanks to Joyce Odam, as she writes to us about forgotten treasures. Our new Seed of the Week is The Heart of Christmas. Send your poems, photos & artwork about this (or any other) subject to kathykieth@hotmail.com. No deadline on SOWs, though, and for a peek at our past ones, click on “Calliope’s Closet”, the link at the top of this column, for plenty of others to choose from.
—Medusa
—Anonymous Photo
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