23 June 2014
The Lonely Blog
The last time I had a blog, I also had a correspondence with a wonderful poet far away. We read each other’s blogs, and their content became part of our conversation. I no longer hear from him, and will not, due to serious illness—his ability to read and write was the first thing he lost. I miss him every day, and yet it took time for me to realize that I can’t seem to get this blog properly up and running because my friend is not there to read and respond.
During our time, we passed two Solstices together, while apart. The first, December 2012, was the night after a very beloved cousin of mine died of cancer; the second, June 2013, was just a few weeks before his own diagnosis. Last December I was alone, and so suicidal that I made the intent of my Solstice ritual my own protection. It worked; the thought of my continued existence was very deeply shadowed, but I did not succumb. Last week, with all of this trying to sort itself out in my head, I asked a friend to celebrate the Summer Solstice with me. Things are feeling much lighter now than last year, and I wanted to mark the shift and celebrate it.
My birds are pigeons, rock doves. The come to my window and eat from my hands. They’ve been bringing their babies to me for weeks now.
20 June 2014
Open the door, and hold the door open
dedicated to my birds
Open the long-standing door till its transparent crack is a smile through the clouds of the sky.
Where was the jailor who sold you its solidness? Hasn’t he been a long while gone, and why?
Wasn’t that miser a liar the while, and has he not since seen his own face and paled?
Open the door! You’ve a place in the sky; sky’s a place in your mind; land’s sad last ship has sailed.
Who am I sighing for, anyway, waiting alone, night on night, footsteps tiptoeing by,
but mind on the range asking questions my dreams are so fraught with, why won’t they let a soul lie
just quietly, when the last judgment’s been passed, but footsteps keep needing to tread back and forth?
Let them be happy grey dove cocks and hens if you please, needle-beaks all aligning due North,
desiring to rest on your window-ledge; just leave the glass lifted high, and give open air free
range to come, go, and stay. If it will, it’s so lovely; you know birds are angels; well, angels-to-be.
Open a little more eyesight, mere human; ours is as brilliant as diamonds in skies,
and as swift as your musical sense of love willing to die for it. We come together so wise.