There is the suggestion of a wing
where Pegasus flies the wall,
the whitest wing to mediate
matter and air.
Oak grows so hard
sometimes her hands hurt.
She only makes
one big horse a year now
and often cries.
Look into the corner,
a unicorn snorts,
his horn of sharpened wood.
Rose Cook
Prayer
Every day I want to speak with you. And every day something more important
calls for my attention – the drugstore, the beauty products, the luggage
I need to buy for the trip.
Even now I can hardly sit here
among the falling piles of paper and clothing, the garbage trucks outside
already screeching and banging.
The mystics say you are as close as my own breath.
Why do I flee from you?
My days and nights pour through me like complaints
and become a story I forgot to tell.
Help me. Even as I write these words I am planning
to rise from the chair as soon as I finish this sentence.
Marie Howe
from The Kingdom of Ordinary Time (Norton, 2008)
It is begun –
place glass jewels in your ears,
wear your newest clothes
with silver bangles and amulets,
wrap your hair in bright scarves,
cover yourselves in flowing skirts and veils,
wrap a peacock feather around
the neck of your child,
carry him up high on his father’s shoulders,
hurry to the dance.
Rose Cook 