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hwesta
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Name: Mary Chris
Metro:
Birthday: 3/12/1983
Gender: Female
Interests: Backyard football, games of spades with lax rules on cheating, picking watercress, lying down in fields, sitting on the floor when there are empty chairs, multiple brackets, empty wine bottles, catching deer
Message: message meEmail: email me
AIM:  etherealair
Member Since:
7/26/2004
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| In cold air and in shadows
I have sat, very still
With stiffening knees and elbows
Felt my warm and supple limbs
Chill
And slow, singing ancient hymns
To no one
For nothing
Because I was young
And I knew no other way
I felt the patterns then
They were devastating
Not mine to praise or condemn
Too big, nearly, for contemplating
But I tried to let them in
The cold clay pressed against my skin
Shadowed secrets of divinity
That primal ache
The searing proof of infinity
Was almost more than I could take
And my eyes grew misty
To think that I was so alone in this
In cold air and in shadows, curled
Clasping my knees, head down
I was so, so in love with the world
I thought that I might drown
I must have him, that mysterious “he”
Or be slain by empty ecstasy
Where now is that girl on the hill?
He has come to her and she is content
The patterns are hiding, her spirit is still
She rarely recalls the times when she was rent
With ecstasy
And pain
And tears
But sometimes in the chilly fall
I remember it all
~***~
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| My friend and I are driving across the country and back. We bowled osage oranges in ohio, visited The Bean in Chicago, skiied, snowshoed and foosballed it up in Colorado, camped in our own private canyon in Utah, rented a cheap hotelroom in Vegas, went sea kayaking with the otters and sealions in santa barbara and now we're in LA for a sacred harp singing. We're heading back to the east coast along the southern route.
We've discovered many emotionally unavailable people... but at least we can identify the symptoms when we see them and appreciate emotional availability properly.
M
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| I ran through the forest night
Though the shadow-shrouded branches
Clawed at me with grasping fingers
I ran till I burst into the heart of a clearing
Where I could see the moon
And an owl hooted mournfully to itself
And there I stopped in the dewy grass
Eyes turned upward
And breathed for a while
And when I plunged back into the woods
I carried the clearing inside me
The thought of it made me not feel so afraid
~~~~~~~~~~~ | | |
| 5-10-07 Rare indeed are the moments that hold
rain and thoughts of
you in the evening
holding your beer and laughing at oysters
under the streetlamp the hacky-sack
leaps and splashes
as the lime drops into the bottle of Pabst’s
and I speak of New Zealand
slapping mosquitoes
crossing my legs on the tailgate
thinking of you there on the ground
neither of us moving toward the other
because that’s how we decided it would be
and now that’s how it is
I look up and where is the rain?
there is no rain at all | | |
| Watching the camel’s feet
Plodding through the sand
Pads spreading just a little at each step
Conforming to its element
While the element also reacts
Rippling out in little ridges
From the foot furred the same color as itself
They welcome each other Also the wind
Blows grains across the ridges
And around the foot
Filling in this new landscape
To an appearance of permanence
And harmony
All in a second Then the camel takes another step
And the interaction begins again
While the sand slowly covers the footprints left behind
Eventually erasing them completely
I watched this for a minute or two
Maybe an hour
While my scarf flapped in the breeze
Which lifted the desert sands and obscured the dunes
Camel’s feet have always touched the sand just so
Hot, dry air poured over my face
And I wished I fit somewhere so well
~***~ | | |
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