Namaste!

Namaste!
August 24, 2010 * Aguas Calientes * Machu Picchu * Peru * South America

poetry and the art of recklessness

"how sad it is when a luxurious imagination is obliged in self-defence to deaden its delicacy in vulgarity, and riot in things attainable that it may not have leisure to go mad
after things that are not." *john keats, july 1818
let us riot in the unattainable!
poetry is when the animal bursts forth, inflamed.

*and dean young is spectacular to have written this essay in poets&writers magazine






Thursday, April 29, 2010

pearls

I had written this in October of 2009, when my mom was admitted into the hospital.
MRSA had caught her, and she was then onto the ICU...
from bad to worse...days to weeks...
months of healing...
it is/was a frightening, humbling ordeal.

My mom is superhuman, a Light Bright vision, a person like no one else I have yet to meet.
She is patience, humility, underestimated strength.
My BFF. Who I want to be when I grow up. That's for damn sure!


i form warm rose pearls from my sweat.
there is god in me, that's for damn sure.
no one harms me.
no one claims me.

i am salt diamond St. Petersburg sand.
i am Wisconsin Friday Night Fish Fry, red-checkered buffet tray in hand.
i am bootleg Christmas trees and Sears blenders scuttled through South American borders.
i am light bulb pollen and pumpkin marigolds.

i am the IV hanging.
i am the medicated halo that creates an imbalance to your white blood cells
counted and calculated and charted so tenderly.
an unconscious medical wonder VIP.

i am the fierce antidote.
i am the medicinal cocktail logging laps in your veins from brains to foot,
there is nowhere for you to root, to plant,

to anchor your vessel.

i know. its such a hassle.

the tip-toeing, the unknowing, the blood bags, the thick liquid bubbles,
the moist heat, the clot by your feet, the dose of chalk to choke in -
to eventually infect your mouth as a baby's yawn .

and breath never became so slow before and
life never became so death before and
nine doctors in white cloaks spoke
your full name
in a huddled ring outside your room of hushed infection.

no one can harm you.
no one can claim you.
the tension that tightens you now beings to froth and drown.

your vessel can anchor.
let the Earth-Shaker scour all.
the god in you, you passed to me -
since in your sweat pearls warm were made.
my mother,
of spring skin and gems,
allow Saint Poseidon to anoint your breath again.

then, ease her anchor into deep bamboo coral
and wade to witness the reborn vessel.


namaste, mom. te quiero mucho!






1 comment:

  1. this is very admirable that you could put this all down into words.

    ReplyDelete