postcards from paradise a bride of life

 

 

The lines that make you are infinite, but I count them
every day to hear the stories you carry.

 

These are not secrets
but records, things we should know but ignore.

 

If I commit
the sin of tearing you from the tree, I find another world
inside the torn vein,

 

another lifetime of counting the records
of who walked here before, of what lovers lay here
holding each other through wars and starvation.

 

Some days I stand here until I lose focus and travel,
drifting off out of the moment, too full of it, and my legs
are now like trees,

 

mindless but vigilant, held
into the earth by the rules of debt, what we owe
to nature for trying to tear ourselves away.

 

I drift
and the pleasure of touch comes again, layers of green
in the mountainside a tickling in my palms.

 

The pleasure is that of being lost here in the crowd
of trunks and pulp, the ground thick with the death of you,

 

sinking under my feet as I go, touching one and another,
linking myself through until the place where I entered
is gone.

When I am afraid, my breath is caught in my throat.
When I am not afraid, I lift both hands up under a bunch
of you to find the way the world felt on the first day.

Leaves

Afaa Michael Weaver

 

may we all have the courage to walk empty handed

across the face of the earth,

reverent, grateful,

a bride of life.

Comments

[Carol (artmusedog)]

Absolutely wonderful photos and poems and your words are always so precious, magical and inspiring ~ thanks, namaste, ^_^

[Noelle]

Hello Rebecca,
This is a beautiful and moving poem. I am reminded of the deep symbolic nature of trees for the Palestinian refugees who have lost their homeland. The olive tree and the fig and the lemon. Most of the olive trees in Palestine have now been uprooted by Israel to make way for their own trees to take root. Consequently, there are Palestinian artists who draw men who are half tree with half their body a trunk and the other human, one leg rooted in the rich soil of Palestine, the homeland longed for and lost. It is a sign of steadfastness and resistance all at one time. Trees are an anchor of home and memory for many people.
xoxox,
Noelle

[annie]

A very beautiful visual interpretation of the poem.

[Meri @ Meri's Musings]

Dear Rebecca:
As always, your words and images are like a tall glass of bubbling water to a parched throat.
Meri

[Stephanie]

What a beautiful poem...and your illustration of it...breath taking.

x..x

[Sue Fox]

Words deep and meaningful I'm breathing in the essence, thank you.
Sue x

[Laurie Zuckerman]

Hi Rebecca, I thought I would say hello to you today through your Postcards from Paradise. I have attached my link to your blog as bearly a year ago I was in Paradise myself—Trinidad. Feels like a long, long time ago. I am trying to cheer myself up by working on photos from that spectacular trip. Love your poetry!

Laurie

[DebC]

Beautiful words and accompanying photos.
A meditation to start and influence my day.
Thank you.

[Tracy]

I drift... into this beautiful world you create with world and image. I whisper *thank you*... :o) We're going to Vienna later this week and be away a few days. See you soon in blogland. ((HUGS))

[magicalmysticalteacher]

I'm late linking because of the untimely death of my beloved laptop. Oh, well, better late than never to join the festivities!