my mother's womb, full as the rich soil
lay heavy with ripened crop
along her path leaves burning red,
that match the birthing blood
bending, ebbing road and body
rock her to a rhythm of her own
the boundary waters hurry past
as her current brings forth life
the raven with its sharp, strong cry
echo my own deep drawing of first breath
...at last darkened hands that work the land,
now work the outline of my face.
(shared now with dversepoets)
Strong and beautiful.
ReplyDeleteHow lovely and powerful this metaphor...
ReplyDeleteThe rhythms of life are altogether and beautiful and haunting.
ReplyDeleteok my breath caught at the ravens call...wonderful and evocative imagery...
ReplyDeleteA beautiful poem ... the images fade one into the other, and the end is excellent.
ReplyDeleteYou grabbed Autumn and rolled down into words ...
rarely do i read such poetry that makes me gasp. this is sheer beauty tara. thank you.
ReplyDeleteMy heart rose and fell back home with your words. Thank you.
ReplyDeletelove your words... gentle beauty!
ReplyDeletenice...look who popped into dverse....very cool...again, that ravens cry is def the cinch line for me in this...love the close on this as well...nice natural touches through out...
ReplyDeleteYour words are hauntingly beautiful.
ReplyDeleteThis is raw and real, you've brought life into sharp focus, like the cry of ravens.
ReplyDeleteYour couplets draw a fine picture of life coming to be amidst the human endeavor to sustain its life on earth. The way you have described the natural landscape birth makes the closing stanzas that much more powerful:
ReplyDeletethe raven with its sharp, strong cry
echo my own deep drawing of first breath
...at last darkened hands that work the land,
now work the outline of my face.
Those lines bring into focus so much.
I'm most struck by how dark this birth is, and I'm trying to come to terms with it. The last couplet suggests fate in the form of others building molds for the infant, and at the same time a hint of the gravedigger.
ReplyDeleteI take this as an elegy to your mother. Your birth in some way presaging her death with the symbol of the crow, the blood of autumn leaves, and her face much like yours at the hands of the gravediggers. It's dark, quite beautiful, and most innovative. I love all the expressive images.
ReplyDelete