MORNING PRAYER
6 a.m. , the purple morning light finds its roost in the black branches, no birds yet singing, no dogs yet barking, barely audible the murmur of the day so soon begun, so new and gently beautiful. she sits serene upon her lawn chair, a plastic testamental throne, surrounded, a part of, become one with the dewy summer garden. in the line of her soft-closed eyes and her still mouth there lies the tender peace reflected in the sweet bird calls now flung upon the air, now silken colors on the morning.
To whom does she speak and in what tongue?
in her hands are the beads of a behemoth faith found suddenly freshly alive, their clicks the tongue of stars and photosynthesis. in her smile is the answer, and in the quiet way she moves, blessing herself and her leafy holy place.
GARDENING
Hat, keep the sun from her skin, will you? it is used skin, the type that’s seen the face of more days than words I know, the type that’s felt things beautiful and harsh and found their blended polar shape. the type I want to wrap my new soul in and peer through to see its stained-glass-patterned wisdom. So keep it safe.
Gloves, keep her hands from harm, will you? they are known hands, learned hands, the type that have wiped more tears than roads I’ve yet walked, and given more solace than tears I’ve yet cried. the type I want to feel gentle on my head and use to comfort my own unborn yet unknown children. So please don’t let them bleed.
Geraniums, pretty red blooms, keep her eyes happy, will you? they are kind eyes, wise and compassionate eyes, seen more hurt faces than bones I have yet broken, cried more tears of joy than laughs I’ve yet laughed. Make her vision one of beauty, keep your petals bright and always new for her. Please. Amen.
BLESSINGS
new plaster stairwell christened sacred
holy water bottle tucked ceremoniously under arm
“please bless this beautiful home and its family, keep them, bring them joy, happiness, love.”
Aunt Mary the priest, the curandera, the mother and caretaker of our street puts her cigarette in her mouth, laughs her Mary laugh, hugs us each, takes Mayo on his leash, and walks back up the street, walks back up the road to her humblest and happiest of abodes. Our new house feels lived in, and we are safe.
Comments
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i went into this thinking, man, i don't know if i wanna read this one....too long. but my god. i'm speechless. you have an amazing gift for words. i loved the form, the style. very original. the vivid image it portrays. great use of symbolism throughout. it tells you what you need to know to feel the whole spectrum of emotions that it touches on, then leaves the reader to decide the rest.
my favorite line was, 'in the line of her soft-closed eyes and her still mouth there lies the tender peace reflected in the sweet bird calls now flung upon the air, now silken colors on the morning.'
great use of language. creative. that was the moment i decided to read the rest of it.
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Nienna,
so i've read through this poem twice now and my eyes are stinging from the computer screen. lol.
...there is too much praise to be bestowed this late at might for a poem of such grandeur.
mmmmmm. the opening line is so delicately appealing:
"the purple morning light finds its roost in the black branches"
what a great opening image for the break of day. and then the image of Aunt Maria in her plastic lawn chair. and then later with her holy water and cigarette. haha. you've given this character an almost comical aura of divinity.
in the second stanza it reads as if you are spying on Maria in her garden. the narrator sounds like a little girl, hiding in the bushes, thinking about the greatness of this woman, which her childish mind allows her to create. she blows her up bigger than she really is. but the author leaves all the clues for the reader to know the truth... then again, Jesus said, "let the children come to me." so who's to discredit the girl's innocence? after all, we too were children once, when faith seemed easier to obtain, and we were impressionable, which isn't really a bad thing. things have only gotten harder for us, i suppose.
anyhow, this poem is thriving with imagination and skillful writing,
behind which is an author who sees herself in the girl, fervently seeking an easier faith though nature and the role models of her childhood. I pray you never stop searching for your purpose and the One who gives it to you, Nienna, and that you continue to produce such gloriously creative poems which echo the creative nature of the God in who's image man was made.
always,
Pap
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