mumma yaga

 May 9 This is my mother with my first daughter, Tamar. She died when Tamar was seven, before Rain was born. I wrote this poem several years later as I began to see who my mother was, not as a mother but as a woman unto herself.  sunsets at little pike partly she was alone in the small green cabin with the wood stove partition walls old linoleum red-yellow on the floor she was alone, even though we were all there. after dinner after the dishes before (not much before) we lit the lamps and dad primed the coleman she'd say, " i'd better go  before i lose the sun" i expect she asked us if we'd like to come i know we often went along the bay shore  to the point out onto the coast of the huron lake like cast pebbles. we made our way in a joy of sure-foot motion across the round-hole limestone moonscape fissured acres of grey like lava, like the moon. then she'd see what she what she had come for gold pink and purple sky and mirrored in the lake we'd stop to w...

may 8 where did my spirits go those three days when the rain closed in and shrouded grey the vermont hills the green mountains bereft of certainty I was cold and though the wind blew soft it did not soothe the sun is shining now tree swallows newly arrived trapeze maniacally over the meadow one lands on the bluebird's house  april's claimant the bluebird chases it off with fragile surety i accomplish some tasks, further a project without thoughts of future or past art as process go on go on through the morning  not in a sleepwalk of the bereft but in the actions of a living thing  vigilant as a beating-heart bird - as breathless i stand tenuous on a brink  then to step where the second has not sounded the clock ticks one and one and one short breath stop thinking and you will not fall leave them alone and they will come home Mumma Yaga

 May 3 The sun was shining yesterday and the trout lilies, who slept closed up through two days of rain and chill, opened and showed their faces once again. More and more are flowering among the trees on the ridge.  Here is a bellwort, my first good look at the flower. More tiny white violets are appearing.             Fig has not been on a long walk with us for a while now: he starts to get stressed pretty soon and wants to turn back, but he does seem to like going over to see the ridge pond and stream. I take him on a leash to help him through the hawthorns and bushes on the meadow, although he is learning to follow in my footsteps quite well. We sat by the stream a while, but when I said, "Let's go," he sat down and looked back over his shoulder towards the stream. So I sat on a log and watched the valley and he lay down not far from me to listen and smell the world. When he heard Blackie in the distance, he leapt up, barking back ferociously! ...

 Apr. 29 Forest: Tree House, River, Dollhouse, Brook. The ridge stream where green life is emerging from the pale winter leaves. The tiny waterway tumbles headlong down and down the ridge, in perfect imitation of a great rushing river with waterfalls, pools and deltas.  A miniature delta forms as the stream merges with the pond. Where the water pools, a clump of trees becomes almost an island. In the microcosmic garden of a mossy rock green life abounds. Everywhere things are growing, greening. This violet, barely the size of my wedding ring, wastes no time growing big or tall, just tiny leaves, tiny flowers, perfect and delicate.  A small world unto itself where the tree is a universe.. Moss grows on everything, like the vegetation of Venus in the Bradbury story, rainforest-proliferate. "He did not sleep... Things grew on him in layers...the small growths of the forest took root in his clothing. He felt the ivy cling and make a second garment over him; he felt the small ...

 Apr. 28 I was awake and thinking about getting up when K called me to come and see this. (5:52 am.) In minutes it had paled to gold, then the song ended and it was daylight. It was K who called it an orchestra of light. ***** I took Rain into Mansonville today on an errand and we stopped at Reilly House. They are open on Wednesdays and Saturdays. There I found myself a replacement guitar, same three-quarter size as my broken one, in excellent condition. I was able to "date" it by the logo, which was in use by the makers from 1981 to 1988. The things you can find out on the internet...  I knew that a new guitar would come along one day, but did not expect it to be so soon. The universe unfolds as it should.  From Desiderata - "And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should." * Nowhere is this more clear to me than when I am second-hand shopping, as inconsequential as that seems. Just when you need something, there it will be. ...

 Apr. 25 The red trillium I seldom saw in Ontario, was more familiar with the white. Here, I have seen no white ones yet, though there are more and more reds in bloom. I was writing to someone about science fiction and my autocorrect changed Sci fi to Sci if. Poetic. The wind is blowing through the forest up the mountain, sounding just like the 427, west of our Etobicoke house in the early morning. (Six or eight lanes of highway.) It doesn't matter where you are. There are wildflowers coming up in the hydro field where we walked the dog, and along the Mimico Creek. As the path from Echo Valley Park turns along the creek to West Deane Park you can find trout lilies and in the hydro field under the border-trees violet leaves are thick and the raspberry canes are red with new life. By now the first dandelions are in flower, of course, and in the neighbourhood lawns the tiny, early violets are doubtless flowering. ***** Fig being Rousseau's lion from The Sleeping Gypsy: Every time ...