Process Notes:
Pamela at Poetry With Me wrote a piece a week or so ago that is made up of lines from her old poems (Ashes Find a Way Back). I liked the idea, so used it tonight. This piece is taken from some of my 2009 poems. It was fun to go through them and create something new. Most of the lines are intact from old pieces.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
magic's meal
A full moon rises
transparent and bright.
The poet glimmers
this night when darkness
hangs the moon on her shoulder
in the glassy waters of Vermillion—
an object of this moment
that bedecks the air
and lift its voice up.
Magic, it binds the sky
to her earth
eating words
so later she can give them life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thank you to Writer's Island for providing a place to post work every day during April, and always on Saturdays!
Showing posts with label Vermillion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vermillion. Show all posts
05 April 2011
04 June 2010
Magpie for Isa
When I was 14 we drove from Montana to Minnesota, to Lake Vermillion. It was the last time I saw my great grandfather Evert Vaino Sulin. He was 92 (and had his driving priveleges revoked 4 years prior for pulling back and forth to the side of the road looking for a spot for his fourth wife to pee). The only person he remembered in our family was our dog, Floppy. My mom’s face changed when he didn’t know that she was Karen, his granddaughter.
~~~
I knew Evert as Isa,
which means father, in Finn.
Isa built the cabin at the lake
by himself when he was 19 years old.
(In his 50s, my father
built a cabin
near Holland Creek
in a Montana valley—
a grizzly corridor
between the Mission Mountains
and the Bob Marshall Wilderness—
he felled the timber,
peeled the bark,
notched the logs,
stacked them.)
Isa managed the dump in Virginia, Minnesota.
Isa scavenged the dump in Virginia, Minnesota.
I envy the trash at his fingertips
treasures in his hands.
He found this head of clay
hiding in the dump one day
and made of it a legacy
to send our dead away.
a funeral dirge to wail away
the accordian’s quiet Polish grief
at her husband Emil’s passing
(and every member since,
of our family’s heritage,
marriage
lineage,
death).
This head of clay picked up one day by Isa at the dump, follows us to our grave. The youngest over 5 carries it: a solemn honor bestowed. Isa believed in his heart that the head came from the bow of a ship sailing from Finland to America-the ship that brought him here...he swears he could hear her wailing in the wind. "Serendipitous, what you find in the dump," he'd say, a twinkle in his so blue eyes.
~~~~~~~~
Shout out to Magpie Tales for the great picture for this ekphrastic piece. Visit the Magpie link to check out gems others create from the picture.
~~~
I knew Evert as Isa,
which means father, in Finn.
Isa built the cabin at the lake
by himself when he was 19 years old.
(In his 50s, my father
built a cabin
near Holland Creek
in a Montana valley—
a grizzly corridor
between the Mission Mountains
and the Bob Marshall Wilderness—
he felled the timber,
peeled the bark,
notched the logs,
stacked them.)
Isa managed the dump in Virginia, Minnesota.
Isa scavenged the dump in Virginia, Minnesota.
I envy the trash at his fingertips
treasures in his hands.
He found this head of clay
hiding in the dump one day
and made of it a legacy
to send our dead away.
Sylvia, my grandma’s sister
received the head of clay—a funeral dirge to wail away
the accordian’s quiet Polish grief
at her husband Emil’s passing
(and every member since,
of our family’s heritage,
marriage
lineage,
death).
This head of clay picked up one day by Isa at the dump, follows us to our grave. The youngest over 5 carries it: a solemn honor bestowed. Isa believed in his heart that the head came from the bow of a ship sailing from Finland to America-the ship that brought him here...he swears he could hear her wailing in the wind. "Serendipitous, what you find in the dump," he'd say, a twinkle in his so blue eyes.
~~~~~~~~
Shout out to Magpie Tales for the great picture for this ekphrastic piece. Visit the Magpie link to check out gems others create from the picture.
04 April 2010
Dream History
The waters of Lake Vermillion run like childhood
through my blood.
In a recurring dream, I sit with Grandma
on a dock bench over Wake ‘Em Up Bay. She
tells me stories about fish, birds, and boys.
Wearing bright colored swimming trunks,
and black numbers in big white circles
on their bobbing backs and chests,
super tan dead men float in the bay.
I think they look like Ken dolls.
Grandma keeps spinning yarns
like the corpses are nothing but logs bobbing by.
At one point she stares out over the bay,
“Musta been a big storm last night.” she says,
then she spins a tale about this frog who became a prince.
She ends with, “But that, my dear, was before you were born.”
and lights shine from behind her eyes somewhere.
The dreams vanish until years later, after Grandpa passes.
They visit again, but this time stories spill
from my life into Grandma’s ears, and she laughs
while the well proportioned bodies buoy about the bay.
through my blood.
In a recurring dream, I sit with Grandma
on a dock bench over Wake ‘Em Up Bay. She
tells me stories about fish, birds, and boys.
Wearing bright colored swimming trunks,
and black numbers in big white circles
on their bobbing backs and chests,
super tan dead men float in the bay.
I think they look like Ken dolls.
Grandma keeps spinning yarns
like the corpses are nothing but logs bobbing by.
At one point she stares out over the bay,
“Musta been a big storm last night.” she says,
then she spins a tale about this frog who became a prince.
She ends with, “But that, my dear, was before you were born.”
and lights shine from behind her eyes somewhere.
The dreams vanish until years later, after Grandpa passes.
They visit again, but this time stories spill
from my life into Grandma’s ears, and she laughs
while the well proportioned bodies buoy about the bay.
08 November 2009
oneword #8 towel
Towel
With smiles in his eyes,
he handed me
the smallest towel in the bunch
for our day at Wake ‘em Up Bay.
Grandpa and I practiced our snapping the night before….
Kneeling on the end of the dock,
I dipped one corner
into the waters of Vermillion
then pretended to dab at my face
like Grandma did whenever the day was hot.
Kent and Kevin ran by me jeering
Girl are made of greasy grimy gopher guts!
Their momentum carried them out over the bay
creating simultaneous water walls
that spread into droplets as they fell.
Then I dove into Wake ‘em Up,
a fish peering down
at the bottom blowing by.
I surfaced looking up at the sky—
no clouds today.
Grandpa polished a spot on the wagon
with the corner of his towel,
catching my eye.
With a wink he waved me in.
My towel soaked up
every drop of water on my body
then I twirled it on top of my head.
The boys soon tired of swimming
and joined us on the shore
they repeated themselves
with a disgusted glance at my headdress
What are you, the Queen of Sheba?
The boys dried themselves off,
and Grandpa started snapping.
The boys came at me,
like Grandpa said they would.
My right hand grabbed
the dry corner of the towel
from my head.
A whip in my hand
it twisted flinging out
until the end
almost straightened in the air,
then I snapped it back
and cracked it in Kevin’s armpit.
Contact.
Yeowch!
Grandpa engaged Kevin
and my weapon searched for Kent.
Contact again.
They both came at me,
when Grandpa pulled himself up tall
between us and began—
The Queen of Sheba claimed
the heart of King Solomon,
the wisest man in all lands!
His thick hands
drew hills and plains
in the air.
The Queen remains nameless in history,
she is referenced in literature
only through Sheba,
the land that she ruled.
Grandpa turned to me,
Queen Lila!
He picked up his towel
and twirled it between us
in the air as he bowed.
permit me to be a servant unto you.
I picked up the stick
we planted for this moment
and put it on one of Grandpa’s shoulders.
I knight you . . . Sir Solomon,
the wisest of my knights.
I raised the stick high,
and brought it to rest
on Grandpa’s other shoulder.
He rose, turned toward the boys,
and lifted a fist in the air.
Leave her be, or answer to me,
Sir Solomon, humble servant and
protector of Lila,
the Queen of Wake ‘em Up Bay.
With smiles in his eyes,
he handed me
the smallest towel in the bunch
for our day at Wake ‘em Up Bay.
Grandpa and I practiced our snapping the night before….
Kneeling on the end of the dock,
I dipped one corner
into the waters of Vermillion
then pretended to dab at my face
like Grandma did whenever the day was hot.
Kent and Kevin ran by me jeering
Girl are made of greasy grimy gopher guts!
Their momentum carried them out over the bay
creating simultaneous water walls
that spread into droplets as they fell.
Then I dove into Wake ‘em Up,
a fish peering down
at the bottom blowing by.
I surfaced looking up at the sky—
no clouds today.
Grandpa polished a spot on the wagon
with the corner of his towel,
catching my eye.
With a wink he waved me in.
My towel soaked up
every drop of water on my body
then I twirled it on top of my head.
The boys soon tired of swimming
and joined us on the shore
they repeated themselves
with a disgusted glance at my headdress
What are you, the Queen of Sheba?
The boys dried themselves off,
and Grandpa started snapping.
The boys came at me,
like Grandpa said they would.
My right hand grabbed
the dry corner of the towel
from my head.
A whip in my hand
it twisted flinging out
until the end
almost straightened in the air,
then I snapped it back
and cracked it in Kevin’s armpit.
Contact.
Yeowch!
Grandpa engaged Kevin
and my weapon searched for Kent.
Contact again.
They both came at me,
when Grandpa pulled himself up tall
between us and began—
The Queen of Sheba claimed
the heart of King Solomon,
the wisest man in all lands!
His thick hands
drew hills and plains
in the air.
The Queen remains nameless in history,
she is referenced in literature
only through Sheba,
the land that she ruled.
Grandpa turned to me,
Queen Lila!
He picked up his towel
and twirled it between us
in the air as he bowed.
permit me to be a servant unto you.
I picked up the stick
we planted for this moment
and put it on one of Grandpa’s shoulders.
I knight you . . . Sir Solomon,
the wisest of my knights.
I raised the stick high,
and brought it to rest
on Grandpa’s other shoulder.
He rose, turned toward the boys,
and lifted a fist in the air.
Leave her be, or answer to me,
Sir Solomon, humble servant and
protector of Lila,
the Queen of Wake ‘em Up Bay.
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