When my home was made in the wind
in owl-silence, as patient as the planets,
black calla lilies grew upon my grave
where Hera's spilled drops transformed.
I had a million sisters, the scattered stars,
a sibling mobile telling night-stories
as I slept on the silver surface of a stream.
My mother was the moon; my father flame.
Black calla lilies grow upon my grave,
where I was born into flesh, a sentient stone.
I wandered off, unattended or so it seemed,
and made my home in sand and sorrow.
Like a branch in the rain, my body grows
heavy, a stiff cocoon my winding sheet.
Below me, the black calla lilies watch
as if I were now the sister-star singing.
Where is the wind where I made my home?
Where the owl-silence and the patient planets?
By day my father whittles, by night my mother shines,
whispering, " 'Calla' means 'beauty' dear child--
Come home to the lilies, to the wind, and to us."
________
for What's Going On? --"say it with flowers"
Music: Ane Brun All My Tears
This is so beautiful - the owl-silence, "made my home in sand and sorrow", "like a branch in the rain".......wonderful!
ReplyDeleteP.s. i have been growing calla lilies for two years. This year one black bloom appeared.
DeleteEthereal, dreamlike imagery here, where nature's solace entwines with familial love. Lovely!
ReplyDeleteReading your poem is to getting soaked in the beauty of language and feeling Shay. It's a profound reflection of all inclusive life : leaving and embracing. Very much poignant.
ReplyDeleteI love how this story unfolds and the connection to nature - beautifully written
ReplyDelete"Below me, the black calla lilies watch
ReplyDeleteas if I were now the sister-star singing"
I love every inch of this poem and its depiction of mortal life--where the grave awaits us all--or the stars. "Beauty." That's what it is, and yet, it includes a yearning for something more--the owl silence, the sisters. Forgive me if thrust mortal meaning over a mythic story, That's how it hit me and I identify. And I love the song.
That is precisely how I intended it, Susan. Love it that you read it that way.
DeleteReally beautiful writing. And I thank Susan for her interpretation, which helped me to understand the layers of this poem more!
ReplyDeleteP.S. I will be looking for more Ane Brun music!
ReplyDeleteDeath waits each of us whether we see it only as a grave or see ourselves among the stars. So beautiful Shay
ReplyDeleteMy word this is gorgeous, Shay. Once again I struggle for the superlatives which can describe the dreamlike truth of what you've done here, the beauty of life and self removed to a liquid place full of sister-song, the sense of being part of something triumphant and mythic, yet separate as well, all too human, too diminished and somehow lost...I especially love "..a sentient stone./I wandered off,/unattended or so it seemed/and made my home in sand and sorrow..." The image of the black calla lilies is totally apposite, as is the measured, sombre feel of the cadence and the gentle, mournful call to return somewhere larger and more whole. Just a splendid write, my friend.
ReplyDeleteDamn that is good. Wow. The power grows with every stanza, until that brilliant ending. Death and beauty inextricably linked. "Come home to the lilies, to the wind, and to us."" for sure.
ReplyDeleteThat opening stanza is purest poetry, like rain water on black calla lilies, like tears dried on a child's cheeks. Simply brilliant, Shay.
ReplyDeleteMy goodness, this is gorgeous. Shaking my head at how you do it.
ReplyDeleteHuge apologies for coming to your stunning poem a week late, Shay, but we had snow, power cuts and other things going on, and I forgot to check back in. The opening stanza has echoes of Dylan Thomas especially:
ReplyDelete‘When my home was made in the wind
in owl-silence, as patient as the planets’.
I also love the silvery sibilance in the second stanza, with its ‘scattered stars’ and ‘silver surface of a stream’. And what a thought to make a home in sand and sorrow.
Black calla lilies are perfect.