Isobel

I.

To try to follow the Om and Sage -

My violin knows the language

And is teaching me.

She is nameless.

I’ve been feeding a grey stray cat

Because its bones protrude.

I’ve named it Gazpacho.

I do not yet know my violin’s name.

She may not know my name

But we trust each other.

II.

The naming of a violin is a difficult matter.

Today, she will be Isobel

Not a lover, but mother or daughter.

We’ve always had a platonic affair

It’s been suggested I try sleeping with her –

They don’t know

She has a rattle snake rattle inside.

Better that she watch from the wall

echoes and reverberates.

I hold her by my hand.

She holds a pleasant conversation.

But unexpected screeches at times –

She’s very sensitive.

I am true red fiddle woman of the high plains

Dancing in conversation

Capitulated.  

Missouri Wind

(A poem in progress)

This city's pressing heavy  - blocking out the sky

The waters from my homeland run by here.

I’m like a bird flown from the nest

lost on the wind.

The waters from my birthplace rush through the states

Picking up and filtering chemicals.

The mountain springs and snow runs off

Runs through me - out through my eyes

Feathering here.

Will the sun to shine kinder on me tomorrow?

Will the rains come to wash it away?

Casting off the cloak of the sun.

I miss the smell of sage in the morning

And the stars like diamonds rolling

Running my fingers through the wind

The smell of the air

Their spirits are on the wind

And I’m down in this city

Surrounded by beveled glass and hard wood floors

 And all the material objects I adore

So this longing could be anywhere

The Missouri binds me here