Homesickness

(Old College Art and Poetry. An excercise in getting all sad, because that’s what you did then.)

For all my grandmas so far away

Her job –weaving clouds
Soft sheen of orange silk during dusk.
On the plane
After I said goodbye
I am with her
Weaving, weaving away pink silk nothings

Ever since Mother of the Skies banished her from earth
She sees her husband once a year
On a bridge of birds
Her children on each side of him

My reasons is diaspora -immigration
I have a grandmother in LA
Another in Sydney
While my step grandmother is buried in Christ Church, New Zealand

I look out for weaving girl as I fly into her handiwork
And think of the iron bird, coasting through
breaking, ripping and tearing the fabrics
so carefully and sorrowfully made
And I wonder
If she misses her family as much as I do

*In a Chinese story, the Weaving Girl who weaves clouds falls in love with a mortal and has two children on earth. Mother of the Skies goes on a search to for her. When she finds Weaving Girl, she return her to Heaven away from her family, separated by the Milky Way. She is reunited with her true love and her children once a year, when all the birds in the world come together to make a bridge.

—————-

Tombstones

For Kristen

Inked butterfly in permanent gestation
Under his heart
Listening for answers
Counting the beats it missed to be born

My perpetual muse
Slouched shoulders
Blond hair,
Like his child
Transcended out of my life
Leaving me mute
Quietly listening
For my own baby shoes,
Stepping away from the crib
Hearing no laughter.