A Sequence

Thursday, April 26th, 2012

From a Tlingit song,

as remembered

Oh dark child

with your bright clever eyes,

how your blood must thrum

to return to the skies.

Feel the flutter of wings in

your fingertips

and the call of the stars

upon your lips,

cry loud and cry long

ply the heart of your chief,

take hold of the moon

that was once beyond reach,

but wait! still there’s more,

there’s the sweet burning heat

of the sun still encaged

that the sky is yet to meet.

So be clever, be quick

but be quiet indeed,

take a taste of the light

and spread wide your wings.


A Bedtime Verse for Children

When the garden has gone quiet

and the house lays down its head,

when bright minds are all stuffed full of sleep,

one little girl sits up instead.

She wonders away the hours,

and glares long at what she can’t quite see

before she slips down from her covers

to go learn what they might be.

But her father said to stay in bed,

it’s important that you do.

The family has all closed their eyes.

You know that you must too.

Yet the girl peeks outside the curtains,

she looks to see the shadows sway.

She marvels to be frightened by their strangeness

or invite them in to stay.

Patient, silent listener

tell me what you would do:

Stay wrapped cozy in your covers

or creep to the window too?

December 21

Is a single spot of light, just one, in the whole goddamned universe too much to

ask for?

Because we’re all spoiling for it, every fucking one of us, gnashing our teeth and mashing our tongues for just a look, fighting that split knuckled grip on our throats and hating it, oh God hating it, because how do we know?

When we reach that zenith and the line is drawn and every fucking time we breathe after is just falling action.

We don’t know. Can’t see it until the end when the rags are ripped from our eyes and we see there.

There I was, that’s what I look like.

And it’s sad.

So damn sad.