Basket of Pomegranates

Basket of Pomegranates

It is a tragic experience to be able to see a Soul, so deeply, so clearly, yet be unable to breach the borrowed black mirror they hold up like a shield, which prevents reflection, when love pings the surface, too soft like an unsubstantial summer rain at the end of a long, dry spell, after the growing time has past.

An old woman cackled from somewhere, “He cares too much.” And I believe her, sacrificed a baby long ago, spade by spade, a silent little boy under hoary soil, and twigs, and cold fires.

I have pomegranates to spare, from who knows where, collected from a fence post one, and in an old abandoned boat in Scotland, and one offered up by a Mermaid, and another hit me on the head once in reverie beneath a fine sky at noon in the mountains gifted.

I’ll leave a basket on the porch and perhaps when the poison apple is spit, he will find them, the pomegranates, the gift long forgotten.

A snow white king stag sleeps under the burnt hawthorn branches, but I see a cinder there that does not belong to me, knowing fire is not my element, I burnt my hand to lift the antler to the table in Thanksgiving, and for that I am grateful.


At the Edge of the Woods

img_2528At the Edge of the Woods

I wish I had answers but I only have stories.

An old recliner, I sit at the edge of the woods.

I was once comfortable.

Lest you forget.

A man died in my comfort.
Smiling that day.
Proud of his gay son.

Shall we sit a spell and reflect,

He liked to golf and save old things, polishing his shoes with a careless whistle, sipping tea.

Lest we forget.

I heard a nurse say,
“He was so happy you found love!”
Tears ran down the son’s face, and he replied,
“I was always afraid to ask…”

You have curled up to sleep in me,
And the cat, purring on your lap

A gift from a son,
I sit in silent snow talking.

Someone said I have no value.
Snowbirds beneath my skirt, a secret feast on cookie crumbs and a story.

Lest we forget,
How to stay warm in winter.
I wish I had answers but I only have stories.
Things you never heard me say.

– Tanya