Color and light
These poems rely on color and light to achieve their purpose. The first two poems were inspired by my children when they were young; the third is a reflection born from hours in front of the famed Water Lilies at MOMA. They were originally published in Feather and Leaf.
Stained Glass
in a catholic church
on a sunday when her parents came
in separate cars to pray
she flitted about and danced
despite a reprimanding stare
from aisle to aisle
and wandered back and forth
seen and unseen
in the gulf between them
until they from their separate rows
genuflected and drove away
mother in the family van
daddy in the station car
each thinking she was with the other
and she at last
being a thing so small
knowing she was left alone
inside the granite walls
her bunny underneath her arm
its ears curled down
the last mass of the day complete
and all the lights inside put out
with nothing left to save the dark
except the blinking candle lamps
and the blue light spilling from the sky
through the arcs of colored window glass
the brown-skinned priest
whose sermon she could hardly hear
or understand the words
had closed the alabaster door
of the tabernacle
and locked the sanctuary’s door
with a silver key
tucked beneath his waist
and retired to who knows where
and gazing from behind the nearest pew
at candles side by side in cups of red and blue
with intermittent wicks of fire
she wonders for a moment what to do
then looks again from here to there
and back again
and seeing no one there
she sucks her thumb
and hugs her bunny tight
and does not speak or dare
a tear or smile
but holds the cares that come from being small
and left alone at such an age
in the same way she holds the aging rabbit at her breast
and speaks in whispers tender words
that hang about the air
like echoes of the echoes of an angel’s prayer
her hair a halo in the falling light
that filters in from windows that ascend
thirty feet up or more
and paint the sunday light of may
in every hue and tint
on the golden benches and the marble floors
she dances in the quiet
like a candle flame come loose
from atop the wax
and crosses her hands as if to pray
and bows before a statue that seems to smile
and pirouettes before another that seems to stare
and plays a game of hide and seek
in the marble shadows
of the church
with no one there
and after the footfalls of her hurried steps
have stopped and left
the lapsing moments in the empty space
to the silent carvings on the walls
she curls up in a corner of the church
beneath a stained glass window that depicts
the mystery of creation
and sleeps a sleep
beyond the reach of dreams
as the last rays of sunlight
set through the mystery
and touch her first communion
The Balloon
picture this
the little girl running through the meadow
yellow dandelions at her feet
a red balloon in her hand
the spring wind blowing her hair and the sun
spraying the air with blue light
and then for a moment the world ends
and the balloon is gone
first no higher than her startled eyes
then in a great gust of wind
leaping into the sky
and you think you hear it laugh
as it floats away
saying it needs to be free beyond free
as it disappears over the trees
and you know you hear yourself
consoling her with the promise
of another balloon on another blue day
that too will go
like all things that go
and be gone
and even asking where it went
will not bring it back
to the world you have imagined
Impressions
the light upon the pond
at giverny never touched the water
you dreamt this long before
death fell and stilled
the movement and stole the breath
and raised your pointless star
into the vaulted night
the light that left
a vision bereft of dreams
to hang upon a wall
where fear is only dust
a light left on long after
the museum closed
the benefactors giving
the silence to the halls
a light to no one dancing
above the water
still and still
a light so far from day
or where you are
ascended to
beyond the reach
of what we know from staring in
or might recall
far from tangled lovers
crawling out from pain
far from the oil their bodies left
to float upon the pond
in colors
far from the waterfowl and fish
where the green lilies swell
to mark the shallows
and the beginning of the depths