the careful doe at dawn.
In between, bewildered stars
and night-black crickets whose song is sawn.
I am the woman whose silver hair
is with a red rag tied.
Under the step, a queening cat
hides from the husband of the bride.
I bake loaves and new red bricks.
I sing but never talk.
A lonely moon my trembling hen
will cradle close and hex the hawk.
There is the crow at evening,
the raucous jay at dawn.
In between, bewildered stars
and night-black crickets whose song is sawn.
______
For The Sunday Muse.
This feels like someone understood who I became in a long marriage to both a man and the life I came to know. This poem is a glimpse, an enlightenment and also the acceptance of the mundane as part of the miracle. I love this Shay!!! Utterly stunning! I know you hate those sayings, but it just is!! 😍
ReplyDeleteOoh, love the return of the last stanza. Very powerful. “and night-black crickets whose song is sawn“ is so, so good!
ReplyDeleteFeel like I'll be humming this to myself--lovely, sticky verses. :)
ReplyDeleteA beautiful write ... I am a voyeur hiding under the step watching.
ReplyDeleteThe repetition at the end really hits home.
ReplyDeleteIn between dawn and evening bewildered stars...I imagine they are confused watching from above.
ReplyDeleteA spell wound tight and true, with all the ingredients potent and pervasive. The animals remind me for some odd reason of the scrolling pictographs found circling rooms in Egyptian ruins--symbols, both plain and mysterious. But this is not just a hex, or even a prophecy, it's also a lament, and one of great sweetness. You have written another gem, Shay, that shines and dazzles most by being in a simple setting.
ReplyDeleteThis is absolutely gorgeous - the images are stunning. Sigh. I loved every perfect word.
ReplyDeleteStunning, Shay. It's like it's from another century... and at the same time, from today.
ReplyDeleteYour writing is always a blessing. Your choice of words, images...wonder in the mundane as we set our eyes on the wonder beyond.
ReplyDeleteI read this three times, trying to understand it, when I realized that I just love reading it. It is song--"I sing but never talk." What a domestic scene, ultimately, if the steps float among the stars and find roots in the ground. This is reality of the magic sort. My favorite image is "A lonely moon my trembling hen
ReplyDeletewill cradle close and hex the hawk."
May it be so.
ReplyDeleteThis poem is like a rubick's cube. Every stanza packs a punch with meaning and imagery. I love how you circled back to those bewildered stars. Perfect!
With a killer beginning to this poem, every stanza followed beautifully, and circled back at the end. Love this!
ReplyDelete