Vignettes from Galatia
The window let light
Fall onto the hospital bed
And the sleeping patient stirred.
* * *
She felt nothing.
She heard nothing.
Only then, seconds later, she felt a drip
And saw in two clear streams
Crimson liquid oozing down her ankle.
Then the rattle
And the realization
As a diamond shaped skull slid away
Dragging its slender scaled chain behind it.
Every ounce of her
Wanted to scream
But the venom was already spreading.
Suddenly, her veins' pulse slowed.
No sound, no motion
No show of emotion
But with long, low breaths she made it back.
Three days after unconscious struggling through deep waters -
Now she has turned to the window again.
Asleep, under the stars,
Three speckled wide-eyed
Coahoma cubs -
Curled up, noses tucked
Into each other's fur.
Then Mother returns
To nestle beside them,
Her huge paw carefully
Set over them both.
In the blinding mornings,
Blazing afternoons, and evenings, slow to rid themselves
Of oppressive heat -
The tree stands tall
Her boughs reaching far
Bejeweled in velveted patches of leaves.
Surrounded by thorns
Crowned by the leaves
Rinsed, warmed in the light,
Plump to the touch, glistening black,
Plucks easily off for popping in mouths;
Not low, in the dust of the trails all trodden -
Not shriveled and hard in the blistering summer -
Not far out of reach, enveloped in knives -
But wholesome and rich and delighting the senses
Giving purples stained fingers and bursting with juice.
when the days are long and languid
when it is impossible to flee from the heat
a single cloud
of enormous expanse
releases little drops of cool, wet beads
As cats and foxes preyed
But the first glimmer of dawn
Now shines anew
And the poppies in the field
(Shut tight as they wait in the dark)
Now dare to open - a petal here, and then
Its neighbor follows - by the time
The sun is clad
In all his pomp and jewels,
Each golden blossom is erect and open
For the day.
Her eyes and ears are large and soft
Under the Manzanita, where her spotted fawn lies.
Her ears fold back
As her nuzzle brushes his,
And the fawn, no bigger than a jackrabbit
Shifts from his shaded bed and stands,
Leaning against her knee.
The forest laughs
Like a spirited nymph
Of Greece, or dryad of Celtic lore -
And she laughs through the ribbons
That finger their way
Between foliage thick enough to keep them hidden.
The silver streams murmur and chat all at once
And erupt into giggles as they fall.
Round rocks or crannies; in summer heat, or snow,
They maintain their imperishable wit.
Arm in arm
Hands in hands
Little ones in laps
Eyes on the setting sun
Thoughts on the One who created it
And who gave them each other.