When the darkness is deep, figures begin to appear at the place where
you and sky collide. First they
resemble the ones you drew as a kid.
Then, like your body, they blossom,
fill the space between you and mystery.
When the darkness is deep, figures
begin to appear at the place where
you and sky collide. First they
resemble the ones you drew as a kid.
Then, like your body, they blossom,
fill the space between you and mystery.
When the deep is dark, larger figures
appear, yours and not yours, now
and much later in the place without clocks.
But now is, as when on the phone
you said, Now I feel good.
So when darkness takes you down
with her vast tender hands, trust in the earth
of her making, in the yeast of your fear,
the water of your courage, the heat
of your good heart. For you will rise up
over and over after being pressed lovingly
down just the right number of times
to be covered, baked in the bowl of her hands
until you become the finest bread
which family, friends, neighbors,
even strangers in shops will see, taste and
wonder: What is the recipe for that?
How can I become that?
—for Mary Ellen Baker
Rowe is dedicating the The Sun magazine workshop (May 21-23) to the gifted poet and essayist Genie Zeiger, who first imagined The Sun coming to Rowe and taught at every Sun workshop. She died December 24, 2009.
Back to Center Post Contents | Home