What's the point?

 

Maggie Westland
bio

FEM FIRE

When I mutate into Mauna Loa
you will not be surprised.
I won't explode like St. Helen
choke you in stone
drown food crops.

I will ever so slowly erupt
with the pleasure of fireworks
create a new holiday
celebrate building new land.

Alchemy is not my passion.
My womb brings bedrock
shapes dreams.
You must not fear fire.
Let me flow!

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SCRIPTED SENSE

How could my bed recline without your weight
my garlic feed without your mouth on mine.
How could my garden seed without your hand
my photo see without your lucid lens.
How could my song rehearse without your voice
my perfume waft without your scented breath. 

Would I find strength against the sneeze of death
bear up despite the gravity of grave
learn to discern the timbre of your dirge
kiss without lips returning my embrace
when all that lit my eyes from your green pools
becomes but memory dust across my palm.

When will I know your stroke has left my skin
miss warmth’s aroma from surrounding air.
Will I have prescience or come blind in pain
be balanced, or jump cliffs beyond your wake.
Will my tongue tell the stories you once spoke
my dulcimer drum out your leaving sound. 

Will you still listen, hear me when I praise
caress my hairs when I am lost in brine
enrich the flavor of my lonely days
send whiffs of onion, drops of pungent sage
put anchor to my drifted boat, keep safe
peek playfully beyond life’s current page. 

I will take focus, luminate my gaze
play every note you taught me perfectly.
My bearings will be true, my place serene.
I’ll knead the knotty lumps from care's soft bread
smell freesias from across the fresh fish pond.
I’ll relish, flavor, lick my palate on. 

No more a savior, I will savor calm.
Perception will delve deep beyond the edge.
My beak will drink all odors of the earth.
Wind chimes will ring awake without alarm.
My fingers will trace each remembered place
where our vibrations trellis down from sky. 

Unable to sip from your scented breath
I’ll cope and touch my two feet to the ground
strike second sight, tune ears, when you have gone.

                                                                                           Copyright © 2007 Maggie Westland

                    Copyright © 2007 Maggie Westland