Pallas Athene

Here where the marble toes
Crumble, a temple. Can you see it?
Hundreds and hundreds of years ago,
Before these streets had stones.

She was a great beauty,
This Pallas Athene, not unlike your grandmother
In her own way.
When first they brought Athene here
She was a perfect picture of war;
Seabirds did not dare land on her.

Look at her now. See that white tear?
This is the rain of ages appearing.
But look, my daughter,
At the wind-worn face:
Time has smoothed the chiseled cheeks;
Her eyes are soft as Aphrodite's.



photo courtesy of P at What Possessed Me.

The First Man to See Jupiter

"Tall as the sky, with a beard
mountains could get lost in. Blue,"

the first man stammered, "Did I mention
he's blue? And for one second the whole
ocean stopped to listen, and he looked my way
and he winked. I can't believe

you missed it."




photograph by flickr user miuvincent

Early Fireworks

We named an entire forest of treetops,
Their heads bursting into life, then
Fading out fast like the faces
Of movie stars. Layered, stacked, three
Skies’ worth of foliage, painted
In the disappearing ink of gunpowder and flame.
We saw a shower of dogwoods, petals
Popping into bloom.
You pointed at the branches
Of the heavenly apple tree.

And every so often,
Like a fast-repeating New Year’s Eve
Or the rebirth of the Buddha--
The trailing golden arms
Of the God-sized weeping willow,
The same revelation every time.




photograph by Rob and Briony

As the Last Mass Ended

after St. Dymphna of Gheel

I saw him by the tallest column,
knife in his belt, sword in his hand.
The broad dome of the ceiling seemed
to slide to the church floor. Light moved
like ice in a muddy river. And then
there were voices: shouts and supplications,
commands for me to run, and run
I must have done. Now the sun
rolls below the earth
and all the saints who saved me
are dead. It will be a cold, cold night
without the hard hands
of a priest to wake me at day.

Presence

I could be blind on this gold day,
not know the honest sun
save for its tender warmth.

I could be deaf as a desert stone,
not know the drowsing murmurs
of one lamb to another.

I could be mute and never tell
another soul the size and shape
of all these breathing beauties.

But I couldn't be here,in this sweet meadow,
and not know your love
by its scent. There is no life
without this bounty, there is
no day without fruit.





painting by Cassandra Barney

Driving Home, Dayenu

The red-tailed hawk in the parking lot,
tracking me as I found my car.

The black bulk of the vulture
by the dry side of the highway.

The robin picking rock salt
from the deepest driveway cracks.

(A heart will swell until it bumps a rib
when the eyes report such wonders.)

If it had been these three,
it would have been enough.

Interlude: Other People's Poetry

from Not So, Not So

I cannot walk an inch
without trying to walk to God.
I cannot move a finger
without trying to touch God.

Perhaps it is this way:
He is in the graves of the horses.
He is in the swarm, the frenzy of the bees,
He is in the tailor mending my pantsuit.
He is in Boston, raised up by the skyscrapers.
He is in the bird, that shameless flyer.
He is in the potter who makes clay into a kiss.

Heaven replies:
Not so! Not so!

I say thus and thus
and heaven smashes my words.



by Anne Sexton
photograph by flickr user whose name I have sadly misplaced. If this is your image please leave a comment.

Saint Anthony's Fire

The fields are full of demons, child.
You must know the new color
of this old madness: it is red. Do
as I say. Take both my hands.

The angel descends. My body
is his flaming sword:
we will all be consumed. This
is our only salvation.






read more about Saint Anthony's Fire* here.
photograph by flickr user tworm


*not to be confused with Saint Elmo's Fire.

A Reading from the Letter of Joan of Arc to the Adolescents

for Sunshine

God knows it isn't easy
being fourteen. Breasts alone
are strange enough; don't get me started
on the tinny chorus of expectations,
the fire in your dreams. It has taken me
more than a little time to get it
but trust me, when you feel your heart thrum
strong and sure in your chest you will know
what breasts are for. When the king plants
an iris in the swollen dark earth, when your mother
lays your armor to sleep deep in the ground,
you will see how your brave bright love
was never the wrong choice.



photograph by Charlotte Miceli

Shiva's Granddaughter in Late-Night Meditation

"Barn's burnt down--
now I can see the moon."
-Mizuta Masahide

With every sunset her appetite grew.
She prayed for the pipes to burst,
for a fire in an electrical storm,
an unlikely New England earthquake. She dreamt
of her bookshelves embedded
in beating hearts of flame,
the good white china crunching in fragments
beneath the smoldering rubble.
And, miles away in the dark,
a secret hand to wipe the soot
from her tear-damp cheeks.




photograph by Mark Allanson

The Blessing of the Animals

The congregants were mostly dogs, but
a perforated box here, a glass bowl there hinted
at smaller souls.
We arrived at the close of the second hymn. The little black dog
wrapped her leash around my legs
and ate the dew-anointed grass of the wide church lawn.

With the patient priest's approach the spaniel offered
her neglected, itchy back, expecting relief
and receiving something different
altogether. Her stub tail stalled,
her whiskered brows shot aloft
with the strange new love of this Saturday morning.




photograph by Sarah Gilbert

Ghost Day

Today, August 15, is the Festival of Ghosts in China. Families burn incense and prepare elaborate meals, leaving empty seats at the table for their ancestors. Paper boats and lanterns are dropped in the water and set on fire, that they may illuminate the waterways for the lonely souls at sea and bring them safely home.

You can read more about Ghost Day here.



photograph by Vincent Chung

For Paula, Before We Leave

after Saint Jerome

We must not.
We
must not; we
must
not.

The silks in your bed-
chamber: sell them.
The Lord has no room
for your softness.

Our bodies are
small and choke our souls, you must leave
your heart
behind. Your eyes will
find a new light.

And in the sunrise
over Egypt we will burn
our sins away:
we must not--we
must not.