Monday, November 26, 2007

A poem.

Jeanne gave me a book of prayers and poems for my birthday. Here's the one I opened the book to. There is something I love about it.


When the darkness is deep, figures
begin to appear at the place where
you and sky collide. First they
resemble the ones you drew as a kid.
Then, like your body, they blossom,
fill the space between you and mystery.

When the deep is dark, larger figures
appear, yours and not yours, now
and much later in the place without clocks.
But now is, as when on the phone
you said, now I feel good.

So when darkness takes you down
with her vast tender hands, trust in the earth
of her making, in the yeast of your fear,
the water of your courage, the heat
of your good heart. For you will rise up
over and over after being pressed lovingly
down just the right number of times
to be covered, baked in the heat of her hands
until you become the finest bread
which family, friends, neighbors,
even strangers in shops will see, taste and
ask: what is the recipe for that?
How can I become that?

Genie Zeiger

I'm not sure what all of it means. But it is good to me.


Marie-Claire said...

I love it.

seantk said...

Very nice. I like how poems can capture a vague, oblique feeling that you can tell is "right" somehow. Kind of an intuition, if you will.

That's what I shoot for when I attempt that form. Sometimes it just comes out nicely, like that.

Thanks for sharing!