God did not live in Eden,
he only came to visit.
He enjoyed the fragrance of life
pulsating from the paradise,
and claimed it –
for he was God, the Imperialist.
The man and the woman were, in truth,
Children of the Earth;
germinating, they had erupted from her fertile source,
the way of all life in the garden.
Serpentina, the Magnificent, the Queen of Eden,
tilled the soil, and knew Earth intimately.
God, the Missionary, forthrightly
converted the children.
He laid down the law of the land:
“Ask no questions,” he said,
defining the mind’s curiosity as sin.
But Serpentina, the Wisdom in Eden, was a thorn in the
heel of the intruder,
for when she appealed to Eve’s intuition,
Enlightenment came to the daughter.
with unpardonable independence.
In Eve’s defense, there was no guilt.
There was no crime, and Adam never fell.
In fact, they stood and questioned God,
who promptly convicted them.
Reaching, reaching deeper.
Pulling, pulling inward through the darkness
Into the very core,
Into the fiery light,
I am the sun fragmented.
Embryonic granule of the Whole,
The Center, the One:
Mother of pearl.
Mammaw Minnie came to me in a dream recently,
As a child near the age I was when she died.
She wore the dress and hair ribbon I’d seen in an old photograph.
Until the dream I did not know they were yellow.
Relatives drifted in and out of familiar old rooms,
Everyone laughed and talked at once. Continue reading The Dream
Esta, old and dying, stood at the gate. She had lived from the beginning to the end. She had come from the place of perpetual bliss to this planet of death, but she had not come freely. She sank to the ground, her wizened old fingers clutching the dirt, as she summoned the great wings of thought. Come, take me back to Ova, she willed. As her head fell to rest upon the brown parchment remains of the garden’s dying trees, Esta remembered. Ova was gone. Continue reading The Last Ovalian
Heaven is deep in a wooded glen
Still damp from an early rain,
Where Harmony hangs sweet
In the pungent pine,
And its presence knows my name.
Way back there in birthing bed
alone again she’d weep.
Year after year, new flesh, new bone,
pushed out like temporal teeth.
Ripped from its sockets by the roots,
life gasped and screamed for air,
then quieted down in perfect peace
to rich maternal fare.
Grandmother soil, warm and fertile,
the perfect garden spot.
She was Eve in efflorescence:
Black-eyed Susans, Blazing Stars,
Snow-drops, Spring Beauties,
Ragweed and Clover.
She was Eden, perennially pregnant.
Wildflowers, we speckle the landscape,
earth’s laughter, we nourish and flavor the land.
Spawned one by one in darkened rooms,
loosed as fledglings from cradling hands:
we explore, we discover,
we dance, we sing,
Last night the dogwood bloomed,
splattering white all over the woods.
What magic transpired while I soundly slept,
to lighten their previous mood?
Give me the wine that frees the mind,
the nectar sipped by Eve.
Just let me taste one sparkling drop
to counteract this sleep.
Let Inspiration’s sweetest juice
remove this misty veil,
so I can see the mystery
Eden could not conceal.
Once, a poetic woman
found the heartbeat of God
beneath a blade of grass.
She simply pulled the leaves apart
and felt the ancient pulse.
When she pressed her palm against the living earth,
and felt the power pounding,
she surely was compelled
To lay her body down.
Breast to breast,
heart to heart,
This old house squats around me, over me
Like a brooding mother hen,
Her wings spreading out, to gather me close,
To confine me to her sagging, cozy bosom.
This old house speaks to me, privately,
Like a jealous old lover,
Resenting the chiming doorbell,
The ringing telephone,
Their rude presumptuousness.
Nestling down around me,
Her creaking old body embraces my fears,
And I snuggle deeper into her womb.
Words are garments
which clothe my thoughts,
like fabric woven from threads.
They can be worn loosely, letting my spirit breathe,
or, bound so tightly, the thoughts are never free.
A few thoughts, essentially unspeakable,
I must wrap warmly in dark, heavy wool,
dressing them carefully for discretion’s sake-
But the majority can be draped in transparent lace,
and exposed to the world.