The Book of 1000 Beginnings : Sylvies Paragraph

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Her name should have been Francie ( my mamas name ) . I made a huge mistake and gave my only daughter the wrong name . I don’t want my memory to fail me now , not now , not when my middle sister Juliet is so terribly broken with grief , afraid of everything that could be . Death always scared her , words like ” heaven ” do too . There are three of us , three daughters first and then my brothers . My mother knew how I expected her to one day live with me . She understood the culture of South America especially after seeing the movie , ” Like Water for Chocolate ” and becoming aware of the Spanish tradition dictating the youngest daughter care for her mother in old age . Her favorite scene was when the youngest sisters heat and passion transfers to her older sister , who overcome with lust , takes a shower outside only to be carried off naked by a revolutionary soldier on horseback . My older sisters were tough competition and we fought for how long she would stay with each of us and just how many movies she could watch . But I’m the smart one ( buying her a one way ticket so she would stay longer ) yes , me the so called smart sister despite the fact that I took ayahuasca in the deep forest with the shaman along a strange river in Columbia where Gabriel Garcia Marquez lived ( my mamas favorite writer ) . I told her that story again and again , embellishing it more and more whenever she asked , which was often . I earned a masters degree in neuroscience , with a career in the research department of a university  and my mama always delighted that by looking at me , one would never know these puzzling facts . So how did I make that mistake with my daughters name ? I forgot the visions in forgetting the romance of my mothers life . I forgot that her brain heard whispers from her soul and that the imprint of her cell was the same as mine . ” Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again , though lovers be lost love shall not , and death shall have no dominion   ” ( Dylan Thomas ). I won’t forget again , not now , not with the black eyes of my daughter looking at me with my mothers emotion , eyes , the artifacts of her grandmothers mystery .

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For my youngest daughter

The Book of One Thousand Beginnings : Dana : Final Paragraph

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I took a photograph of her , her mouth wide open when a bird hit the window , a messenger from across the species divide . It lies on the grass before me and my dead mother . A flying creature , knowing things I do not , a divine emissary . Do I share kinship with this one who mimics my speech , my sobs ? Just who is guided by this passerine bird to this room of death , this pale room of my mothers end . And what will they do with her remains , the Christ-like stillness of her body , a body of delicate white bones , a body dead with skin like that fish I once saw aglow , not yet cold , blue moving with fog across waters of the Great Lake . Flowers are everywhere in this place , messages , repeated words on cards , ribbons caught in the air of a musky smell from life’s underbelly . I remember my brother once shooting a songbird out of its nest with his Daisy B-B gun and wonder when will he be here . I want to embalm my misunderstood mother and this raven together and watch them be mummified in beeswax and honey . But I know it will not be allowed . In what corner of my mind are my dead mothers poems hidden ? I cannot capture everything or anything with words any more …

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Personal note : I have been lost in my story , words and more words , editing and cutting until only the ending above remains . I can’t find the plot anymore . Writing has become the long , long dance with music that refuses to end , even without any lyrics … but alas , I’m rather tired of searching for that plot . . .

Thank you , each of my friends for following and for always encouraging with your kind comments and inspiring hearts …it matters so very much …

Loves Imprint – Copper Harbor

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today

we traveled behind rain

you wanting

to find the way

nightwards when

sleep fluttered milkweed

upon my lashes

and where

the north panther

lay down again

its thunder

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today

we traveled behind daisies

hiding tormented

tree stumps

unfathomable .

down wrong turns

me wanting

to roll in the hills

the tremble of

birthing winds

bouquet .

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today

we traveled behind lake

your veins

like pine tree roots

the meadows

of your hands

abduct my flesh

drenched

to stretch sun

into storm .

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today

we traveled  behind rooms

you wounding

the ghost

riding corridors of

your world .

me seeing

a nightingale naked

eclipsed upon

your lips

where petals stain

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over a Two Hearted River

this is the strangest

garishly  glorious

life I’ve ever known .

 

You Don’t See Me

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the witness point

on eyes of a bark less tree

residing in the gypsy globe

take notice

of her beloveds worn shirt

the buff cream

of Charolais cattle

sedate , too damaged

for this wilderness land

of dangerous freedom .

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she is a runner

like antelope

always alone

with her solar smile

silent , so hungry

biting her lip

take notice

a zephyr lily

looking for the

promised land .

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he is a rare sighting

a god

disquised as a man

spreading nightmare

to her standing there

with no movement

anymore

weary of this

peaceful slavery

where

someone else

holds the surveyors transit .

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does he not see

her climbing out

from the hole in his eye

terrified

there at the

witness point .