In Splendor & Ash

A woman of our time
Storms the statehouse
The balance of power
Is lopsided
And far flung.

When one has a
Plundered past,
The hangman’s daughter
Is dangerous to know.

In a split second,
A myrtle
From the low country
Can be transformed into
An evening star.

As a gibing king
Of pallid strength
Rests on his couch,
There is much revelry
Within the House of Wrens;
Even the toppled clutch
Is upon the bargaining table.
The girls on the row
Claim a promise of earth,
A legacy of Science
Short circuited by
The boys of winter.

As the womb of Love
Remains a refugee,
A distant echo
Troubles the sleep
And reads their histories.

I am thirsty
In this distillation
Rendering
A blanched silhouette:
Part sailor
Part anchor
Part gumshoe
Part Troubadour.

Each day
I seek the water’s
Arch
For a touch
Of buoyancy.
My spine
Is a mast of wheat.
My sail is plump.
The scope
Is open wide.

I only ever wanted to be
What I am:
A California girl
Barefoot,
Pregnant
With purpose,
Openhearted,
Surrounded by children
With flowers woven into my hair,
A maker of art.

At the climbing hour,
Comb
Along the golden, faultless shore
Find me
By the light of home
Cradled by a dove blue,
Cupped sea
Wing-shadowed
Midstream
Brushed by
His fringe,
Sustained
And grounded to receive
A screen of rain
The burgeoning cloud
In lanterned light of
Chambers held within.
In awe & emptiness
I am waiting there
In splendor & ash.

gjh.

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