Go now to the silence. It has longed for you
as a mother longs for her ransomed child.
Go, and take off your shoes, your gloves,
weave from your shadow and ache
a rough blanket. Lie down. Your body
knows itself everywhere now,
just as a deep sky knows each river and cliff,
each still meadow lazily dotted with goats.
Take off your watch cap. Allow wind
to lift it away like a raveled nest and mingle your hair
with coarser, more flammable grasses, rattling
toward barest winter. Allow sleep. Allow gratitude.
Allow the essential and hesitant leave-taking.
Now may the soft-eyed wolves approach
with the same moon tucked in their hearts
and their hungers ordained.
Now like a sprig of thistles a schoolgirl picked,
may you be forgotten.
And your old name join its fellow rustlings,
and you always be loved.
(first appeared in plumepoetry.com)
The Good World
but when I painted the deer
I didnít want to scare her
so I started with the leaves
her slow tongue curled around
then the nearby apples come loose
on their brittling stems
for her alone
I painted even the halfheartedness
of that red then
herís eyes closing, leaving the sun
to tire by itself
as her lips rolled wetly across
their amiable consonant of eating
then I stopped
for it was her long day's end
but some apple still glistened
on the tip of my brush
(first appeared in The Plume Anthology of Poetry 6)
© Frannie Lindsay.