Conversing with Light

I started off on an amazing site. One of the guardians of that site is an amazing chick. Brilliant and beautiful woman and very creative. She makes gorgeous furniture. Crafts and stuff. She'd sent me pics one day she'd taken. I was overwhelmed. She has an eye. Something I wrote for her. I made a slideshow of her photography and sent it to her. This was for her. I'd broken a huge purple glass casserole dish that day. And my amazing daughter loves animals so much. She'll rescue anything. Thanks.

(for Madame Lavender) 

I. 

The glass had simply shattered. Rich 
purple-transparent concave shards like giant 
beetles at my feet. I thought how 
dangerous beauty could be, how it was 
meant to be taken in small doses 
for fear it could cut the feet 
or the throat on its way down. 

And I had consumed much that day. 
Everything was raw-edged and knife-kissed, 
it was a stinging, questioning space 
and it demanded that space, 
it had a voice that could sing, 
it was beautiful. 

Because there you had went that day, 
conversing with light and dancing with shadow. 
You owned the movement of the leaves 
in the trees and you flirted with color 
as if you knew its whims by heart. 
Nothing could escape your eye. 

II. 

Just days ago we'd rescued her from 
the middle of the street, wet constellations 
of crust in a pair of eyes that could barely open. 

Now as I sweep away the ineffable, clinging 
truth of jagged stones, she lies sprawled contentedly 
in a chair. And I wonder if this was a tiny miracle 
among miracles, that maybe for some minutes 

we became God to the meek, and perhaps I could lead 
my lost self to the light, miracles had proven themselves, 
they were real and effortless as accidents. 
In this way they were available to us, 
in this way we were deserving of their glory. 

And there were sharp curves in slices 
of a purple paradise and I could see 
with clarity how they would fit back together 
and there was hope, all was right. 

For that moment, it all fit. 

III. 

How I'd pulled so thoughtlessly 
at the darkness of the cabinet, 
my daughter's hands sure and lifting 
a shivering body that fit between her palms. 

And there you went that day, conversing with light 
and dancing with shadow. You brought it all to me, 
that which I have seen a thousand times 
but have never seen before today. 
The teal spire of a church juxtaposed 
against pink-spreading blossoms and the shivering
blue of the sky that makes my mouth ache 
with wonder and gratitude. Angels with weathered 
faces cold and pebbled beneath my fingers, 
the gentle twining of a mirror-like river 
cradled between two pristine hands of snow. 

And my heart aches from it as I sweep up shards 
and choke on joy and redemption. 
For today you went conversing with light 
and dancing with shadow, 
and nothing escaped your knowing eye.