A COLD NIGHT

 

There were paths in all directions,
doors of many houses.
We knew our way around
mountains; the forests and deserts
were no strangers to our feet.

We had scattered,
and gathered into baskets,
and emptied them
more than once.

It was a cold night,
a waning gibbous moon,
no music anywhere.

We sat at table–
Beekeeper, One-Breasted Woman, Poet, Old Maid–
and laughed and laughed
in the teeth of the darkness,
into the mouth of the Beast.

“Oh, there’s no room
for Granny in there now,”
we said.  “Her ears are too big,
her eyes are too big, her elbows
are sharp as her tongue.”

The wine was gone,
the moon was setting
when we finally rose to go.

We laughed and waved goodbye.
“Keep your eyes open,” we said,
“take care of your heart,
and remember to keep
an ear to the tears in the ground.”

 

Jan. 4, 2007

This is published in the most recent edition of “Crone” magazine.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s