Your mute voices clamor in my ear
Thin fingers pluck at my hem
Your dry tears clot my throat
I bear your unquiet loss.
I light the candles
I call the directions
I bring the flowers
I keep the faith, the waste, the plaint
I give the breath, the blood, the bone
It is for me to write
Your untold stories
But the ink runs out
I write words with air.
I carry you and I lay you down
You are dust now
Shades that flicker behind my eyes
This body has its own riddle to solve
Rest you now. Rest.
In the dim light, at the dark moon
I tarry at the crossroads
Wrap my holy heat close
And dance in all the worlds
– Cari Ferraro
I love this poem, Cari. It is so peaceful. I always feel privileged to know you.
Thank you dear friend.
Lovely to hear and see your poem here Cari, thank you. I love the way you carry us, and have us pause, in relation to the celestial movements and the seasons.
Thank you, Laurie. The poems seem to arrive with the turning of the Wheel, sometimes. Then I feel “the wave in the mind” as Virginia Woolf called it, which “(apparently has nothing to do with words) and then, as it breaks and tumbles in the mind, it makes words to fit it.”
As always, lovely words from a lovely lady.
Happy upcoming Thanksgiving,
with love, Carol
Love this poem. It captures the thin veil of this night.
This is even more poignant a year on. Rest now with them tonight.
Thank you Bee. I realize now that this is actually two years on. Just a measure of how long I have been working with ancestors and story.