The Hatching of the Heart. Margo Swiss
light rain—
soft, light rain rains.
Living water reigns.
Spring Buds
In spring
buds are sentient, multi-ocular, perceive
light from everywhere.
Sun’s air heats
sheaths hour by hour
melliferous cups, first filled,
swells that dermis
smaller than eyes can
accommodate to
burst, bloom.
Audience
Above all
this green
leaf-laden lushness
in that tree
I see
from where first
those double notes
burst.
The cardinal sings.
Red-suited
crowned
he a-warbling rings out
then double notes
again.
I am his
only audience
down here
lonely for the taking
ground bound
listening for
love’s call.
I cry aloud, again
please, again!
He does so miraculously
then such a wonder-
ful life proclaim
rejoicing.
I stand below
and know
God too hears.
Dilatation
in summer
this tree
is rain-soaked:
black bark, the smell
of wood, lightning-burnt,
cutaneous, so that it hurts,
green, so that it dilates
the eye
in summer
A Thin Place
(for my mother)
I’m just being quiet
the flat line of your lips
drawn over.
just being quiet. . . .
after years of war
(long forgotten).
The lash of events against
her six-year-old scapulae—
made to strip bare before
hands tore flesh, a blur of
eyes and teeth, unleashed to
drive the point home—
the little upon the least.
Later, in the bath
her welts blister and burn
raw to the touch,
after long hot days when bladder scalds
from dehydration of summer sweat
and too many tears wept
so her eyes swelled.
Or night commands to
shut up your coughing:
her throat ached, trying to,
trying not to
flinch in the way of
drunken curse or
hand slug in the face:
don’t you dare
talk back.
One ragged sleeve of pain
worn inside out
so none heard
the scream, rolled up so tight
she’d need to bite down
to swallow the cry whole,
felt like
forever. . . .
One day
the angels came
woke her breathless
whispering her name:
a day so heavenly
everything
for a time
slowed
down
(heart beating in her mouth)
saw sun rise
burst into her eyes
such a large fair green place
space enough to stand straight up in—
And then
she said, mommy,
I’ve seen God!
Sunflowers
“and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.”
(Psalm 19.6)
God’s Sun
flowers flames green-gold
lines gone forth out of Him—
takes truants a-sudden
hauls holds steady
heart to heart—
rends not garments
the will clean clothed anew
in the sheer mercy-might of Him—
then
fires again
even greater gold—
the heat thereof
being His
only.
Manitoba Trees
Poplars aglow surely know of times to come,
simply throw themselves into life—
reckless as lovers, reel sideways
skyways, any way, agile beyond belief
every leaf angling, spun in sun
awash with light
in spite of dry heat.
What does it mean
that these brave trees seem eternally bent upon
such a vast chloroplastic blast
long to outlast their first June greening
too soon cast down, silvered
under God’s own eye?
May we never forget
their photosynthetic rush against all odds