Rutile (As Above)

 

Just as the little needles,

Inclusions, as they say,

Catch the light just so

And make this sapphire a star,

 

The broken little bits of me

That fracture the whole self,

Bending and skewing it

In their own image,

 

Do sometimes catch the light

and it might not be

entirely awful

That they were included.

 

As the parts, so the sum,

A reckless, jarring fractal

The self wholly refracting

Each of its vices and versas.

 

The stone in the roots

Is the twist in the tree,

And the scar on the bone

Is the faltering gait.

 

Each wound that I bear

Becomes the wound that I am,

And it must it must it must follow

That each flaw contains within

The flaw that created it,

 

All reality, wincing

Shining, ruined,

Pierced by a needle,

That I am.

For Erma Bombeck

 I took the cherries

one by one

from the bowl

where one of them

had spoiled,

spilling its thick red juice,

but which one?

Inspecting each,

looking for softness

in the firm red bodies

with the gentlest of touches,

then rinsing the blood

of their fallen brother 

from their garnet skin.

I found it

near the bottom,

its soft mouth open

to let tumble out a stone,

the sole remaining hardness 

in a melting body,

unyielding as a soul.

An archive of recent trinkets

 A red-winged blackbird on a cattail

will always recall

the pond at the edge of our land,

The furthest we dared go.

A slash of red and yellow

wounding the soft black,

The single unwavering band of light

we all carry.

~~

Around my feet the  withered leaves

that fell away last season

Lay bare their veins like icy sieves;

I let go for a reason.

And yet my naked limbs are cold,

exposed, embarrassing.

I reach for what is spent and old

while waiting for the Spring.

~~

In Winter,

as The Horned God sleeps,

glutted from the harvest,

remember that the sun is not the only light,

and that you are not withering,

but waiting.

~~

There's something to be said

for this soft and cozy bed

with a warm and cozy blanket

pulled up around my head.

But there's just as much to say

for another lovely day

scaling walls and facing dragons

that are standing in my way.

 

Impossible to choose, 

so while the coffee brews

I'll linger nine more minutes

in the limbo known as snooze.

~~

Nature shows herself in such a way

that we see Art in every little place--

Or is it far more accurate to say

what we call Art is that with Nature's face?

Something has reawakened poetry within me.

 

I took the cherries

One by one

From the bowl

where one of them

Had spoiled,

Spilling its thick red juice,

But which one?

 

Inspecting each,

Looking for softness

In the firm red bodies

With the gentlest of touches,

Then rinsing the blood

Of their fallen brother

From their garnet skin.

 

I found it

Near the bottom,

Its soft mouth open

To let tumble out a stone,

The sole remaining hardness

In a melting body,

Unyielding as a soul.

This tree I didn’t plant

Grew up choking.

Reaching through the uncaring grid

Wires, pressing into its neck

So slowly it didn’t even notice

That it was being cut in half.

  

Snip the lines and slip it free

From its first embrace,

Familiar, but murderous.

 

Pry its roots from the earth,

And for  those that don’t release their grasp--

The spade.

 

It may not survive in its new, lush soil.

Impossible to move it without butchering.

It was alive where it was,

But how long could it have continued

Casting suppliant leaves at the sky,

Winged seeds at the earth.