Each moment
each hour
each day,
a new layer –
like leaves
in autumn,
snow
in winter;
a collection
of transparent
memories
grown
owned
imposed
stitched into
rootless
kaleidoscopic
clothes and
draped –
oh so gently –
over our
remembering,
forgetting
bones.
— C.Birde, 10/19
Little by little,
she let go
the past
&
freed herself
to the
light.
— C.Birde,10/19
Autumn light –
tea-stained
honeyed
steeped
in maple,
ash and
hickory
burnished
gold and
poured through
branch and
leaf and
limb into
our hollowed
hallowed
hands.
Drink
up.
— C.Birde, 10/19
“Where
has anger led?”
Her query
was demand.
“That shimmering
red-veil firestorm
kindled and fed
the flux and
transmission
of broken light,
the fiery collision
of past
present
future,
devouring and
insatiable.”
Flushed,
she paused
for breath.
“I will wear grief
instead,”
she began again,
“Those blunt
bruised shades
of blue-gray
melancholy…
I will wear grief,”
she affirmed.
In the mirror,
our eyes met.
“until our
collective heart
is restored
and polished,
and its calloused
ache – at last –
is shed.”
— C.Birde, 8/30/19
Crisp
cool air;
retreating light;
the earth’s slow
burnishing…
She made up
her bed
— carefully —
&
prepared
to
sleep.
— C.Birde, 10/19
Pebbles &
pearls &
milky, cat’s eye
marbles;
halos &
oculi &
bright, silver
coins;
cups &
saucers &
spheres of
dandelions
blowing to seed.
But always and
above all these,
the Moon,
Oh,
the Moon.
— C.Birde, 10/15/19
Bright-eyed
asters,
starry-eyed
asters –
perennial footlights
to Autumn’s
drama.
— C.Birde, 10/19
Sweet-toasted
leaf-fall.
Crackle and
crunch.
Seduction
of trees’ collective
undress.
Observe
and pivot
beneath songbirds’
departure
over
under
through
Mark
the warp and weft
of praiseful wind
and heed
the crickets’ last call
and response.
Reign
of Autumn
scattered
shelled
hoarded
Attend.
Attend.
— C.Birde, 10/19
Autumn
wildflowers,
adrift
in green frills,
bid
the sweetest,
the fondest
of all
farewells.
— C.Birde, 10/19
A revelation –
this small
raised
lattice
inch that sways,
like miniscule
rope bridge,
from the eye’s
outermost corner,
following the cheek’s
down-curved sweep,
where,
a week ago,
the hole was cut
then gathered up
and closed in
tight
precise
stitches.
To bear even
the slimmest crescent
of waning moon
within the constellation
of one’s living
skin…
A revelation.
— C.Birde, 10/19