Sunday, March 29, 2020

51 & C19: Poetry of a Certain Uncertainty

Near the Pumps
photo by RPodunovich
Down River
at the Lower Dolores

On the silver feathered backbone
            of an exhale—
            watch grief fly
free as swallows skimming winter waters,
soaring on gales of transience.
Your sorrows released evaporate,
vanish into slickrock, into the mouth
of this river-carved canyon.
            Never ask for them back.

Colors After Snow
photo by RPodunovich
Gather soul medicines found along the path:
rose hips, sage, cedar and lichen
sodden from last night’s snow,
their colors momentarily radiant
under melting crystals of frost.
            —Inhale:  
the vanilla scent of pinion pitch,
a resin that seals the heart,
covers the fissures, 
            restores your tenderness.

Only a scar remains, only noticeable when stars fall,  
trails of light across the midnight psyche,
a remnant ache you will keep—
your own darkness harnessed.
You have learned to wander that precarious edge,
where the conscious and Unconscious meet;
            using your subtle body, a place deeper than logic,
            and out of obscurity you have scavenged 
            a more durable self,
extracted from galaxies and mystery
with the sharp tip of a crescent moon.
           
Each new year (or day or minute) is an opening,
an opportunity to be bright like river ripples,
sunlit and willingly carried,
held and pushed forward at the same time;
in every moment all facets are happening.
            — Be vast enough—
stretch to contain a dash more shimmer and night.
There is time yet for more,
a day or many; it is unclear
            but we are alive still in air, in water, the fire body,
            in each grateful breath.

-Renee Podunovich, 3/28/2020

Celebrating 51!