where can we find light in this never-ending shade?–From Amanda Gorman, “The Hill We Climb” Answered Curled up in blankets, layered against cold and wet, I read Clarke, Heinlein, or Atwood by candlelight; books whose pages haven’t disintegrated yet in the cave’s humidity. “X’s” on its wall say it’s mid-January. Deep underground it’s a constant…
Category: prosery
dVerse — Prosery — Eclipse
You drew stars around my scars–from Taylor Swift’s song, “Cardigan,”taken from her record Folklore. Eclipse Bionauts, our filaments had been floating in cosmoplasm through innumerable incarnations. When the threads of our irredeemable ills intersected, they caught and twisted together, anchoring each other. Agog and giddy, the blossom of grace bloomed in a garden of gratitude….
dVerse — Prosery Monday — Woolly Winter
There you can see a very small patch Of dark blue, framed by a little branch, Pinned up by a naughty star. — Arthur Rimbaud, from Novel Woolly Winter Months-long winter drains, where no snow brightens, no gusts whistle, and dis-ease suffocates. Today, Martha rides away in the creaky carriage after explaining she needs color…
dVerse — Prosery — Polar Dark
And I’ll bury my soul in a scrapbook, with the photographs there and the moss. From, “Take This Waltz” by Leonard Cohen Polar Dark When summers brushed our skin and winters pulled us close, sun and snow shone sparkly and clean, servants of love’s season. When autumn stayed, dysfunctional limbo, a gloom of weighing and…
dVerse — Prosery Monday — Karma’s Little Helper
every day unfurls as it must–from Oolong, by Adrienne Su Karma’s Little Helper She sweats on the front porch swing, listening to wind swish treetops, catching whiffs of lavender. It is summer’s zenith, when green screams its loudest. Sunlight roars yellow. The palette’s remainder supports in dulcet murmurs. Reverie carries her to a summer when…
dVerse — Prosery — Answered Prayers
I pray to God that she may lieForever with unopened eye— from Edgar Allan Poe’s, “The Sleeper” Millicent and I are born eighteen months apart; she in the heat of August, and I in the chill of January. Our temperaments follow our seasons. She, vivacious, fire in her blood; and I, pale, introverted, with a…
dVerse — Prosery — Tomorrow’s Sacred Space
Something told the wild geese It was time to fly. — by Rachel Lyman Field, from Something told the wild geese Tomorrow’s Sacred Space For a thousand generations we’ve welcomed their return to the spring-fed lake when their wintering grounds told them to fly home. Their petroglyphs skein the cave walls. Migratory residents, they’re also…
Tao-Talk 