Light from the inside out, The sky of many acres & Simple soliloquies
by Elizabeth Kirschner
[ poetry - december 06 ]
Light from the inside out
At night, when I grieve most
the stars drop closer, as if
to tell me that loss needs light from the inside-
out while I wait for anything to mate-
clouds, crickets or the phoenix.
Then the frost laced around my bones
begins to summer in its slumber. Then
warm dreams magnify the instant
when I was born, the moment
when fish leap over dragging hooks
and the dew gives off that first-
fresh scent in air perfumed by rain-
bedraggled lilacs.
If I'm patient, the blackbird's
feathers will turn cerulean blue,
my memory, so darkly laden, will roll
into a glossy pearl, and a certain
gladness will be shaken out of
my body like a thousand light-
bedazzled coins.
The sky of many acres
Let's lie down
in a bed of wild thyme.
Its scent is of incense
inside ancient temples
where monks sit like statues
carved from ivory jade.
Summer ebbs, a stalled wish
inside love's mirage.
Beneath the Sky of Many Acres,
the sun wants to touch our hearts
with its tender fingers, so let's not
button all the way up.
We need to bare ourselves a little
if we want to be loved. That's why I
let you touch my shadow, black
as the ink in the Book of the Dead.
Someday I'll be the final period
on the last page, but for now
I let the sky be kind to me
and tie a sunray to my finger
like a wedding band and vow
to be open to blessings
which befall me, blue blessings
full of breezes and keys
with which to unlock the lock
that locks me in until
everyone can hear
the music musing through me
like a road that leads to home.
Simple soliloquies
In the watery world, I try to keep my eyes open.
I see small waves in the lake as hints of the eternal.
When I wade in, a sunfish swims by-
its scales remember the legacy of rainbows longer than I do.
The cattails grow like fat brown cigars. I listen
to the release of the smoke, which is their seed.
And later, deep in the night, when the owls grow wary
and attentive, I'll remember the feel of the lapping water
while standing in a lake under a sky that grew taller
by the minute. Unspeakable minutes, like small oaths
which promise that tomorrow the child I once was
will return, kiss me quickly, then run off into the sun
to play while the simple soliloquies of the spirit
stitch my heart back into my body till I burst with light.
