THE WOMEN gather under the trees.
They bring gifts, food, and chairs.
They are gypsies and queens, oracles, saints,
Jezebels and jesters, healers, sages, and warriors.
And when the circle is complete, the magic begins.
Shyly, with dainty movements, they take turns,
shifting aside their robes to expose
missing limbs and gaping wounds.
The others gather close and peer, heads cocked,
eyes straining, and they chant,
"That is lovely, that is good,"
and the wounds stop weeping,
and they melt into scars,
silvery and light and beautiful.
Then the women lean back and laugh,
and they stretch, sensual and fierce,
like cats in the sun.

Friday, February 3, 2012

Sand & Tears/'Til the End of Time

This postcard photo of an old tomb in St. Louis was the inspiration for the two poems below, both by Sappho.
"Sand and Tears"

Build my tomb
of sand and tears
Cover it with flowers
Tend it for twelve months
twelve weeks,
and twelve hours
The winds will scatter
the sand and tears
Then will come the showers
to wash away
the very life
that was once ours.


"'Till The End Of Time"

I'll build you a tomb of rocks and marble
granite, cement, and stone
I'll visit you there every day
You'll never be alone

I'll bring you roses, lilies, daisies
all the summer through
I'll keep them watered with the tears
I will shed for you

I'll throw myself onto your grave
I'll wear black veils and beads
I'll mourn you 'till the end of time
draped in my widow's weeds

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