Tag Archive | spring

fiddle-head

so silent odalisque.  long empty pie pieces sliced by solar time: solstice to equinox to solstice to equinox.  a big sun-cross with silent sweeps in between.  every circle is a year.

this silent sweep is avril, the cruelest month, eliot said.  plants don’t want to be buried they pull themselves, pale, embryonic un-dead, out of the earth.  marsh goes from gold to green again, the water is not summer blue or winter black but a sheeny-silver murk, faintly pink.   my room is cold then perfect perfect warm then hot then cold again in just one day as the sun slips in and out of window frame.  birds build nests of straw and trash.  i leave shreds of scrapbook paper on the sill for them to take.  scrapbook shreds pad nests.

now is not a time i want to eat eggs.

i want to eat…green shoots as they curl out of the ground.  big bowls, before they toughen too much in the sun.  how crisp and fresh these young sprouts.   they snap between teeth,  taste of minerals, essence of dirt firmed in cellulose and sweetened with chemystred  light  .  radish asparagus lotus root  fiddle-head fern.  young and crisply fibrous.

i am no spring sprout.  i am a fruit not yet fermented to wine, but late-season, heavy and odorous.

i plump myself on fresh spring greens.  the birds pile them on the sill.  maybe in exchange for the nesting material, or maybe just because they  like to feed me.  because they care.

–The Odalisque

the great guardian (vernal equinox, 2015)

 

I am the lion the great guardian who destroys all who come with bad intentions.

storm clouds, sirens, sea shells, ships.

winged guardian.

April is the cruelest month.

It’s coming!  Happy first moment of spring.

–The Odalisque

 

 

spring is coming

Ah, Bacchanal!

Spring is coming!

There are no birds in this picture.  Saturn and his wise centaurs.  All a-flutter and creepy-crawly.  Floriferous, sword in scabbard and spear.

Rummaging through loose papers to find out where on earth/in space I found that face!  Faces are unusual in my scrapbook!  Here’s the only other one I can think of.  It’s from my favorite movie.

Are you bringing me flowers?  I like flowers.  Particularly the ones that open themselves so fully they fall apart.  Hearts do this, and the ego, yearning for transcendence.   So, too, the prismatic doors of glass, with no hinges and no handle.  You (yes you) must crash through.  Oh the light, smashing everywhere and glass shattering like a fist smashed into still water drops like glass throwing light.

My favorite flower, the petals dropleted with moisture, shatters on the sill.

Wait, just a little bit.  I will make you a bouquet.

–The Odalisque

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