O, DU BON
“I’ve never seen a sky so blue!”
exclaimed my New York Jewish film professor, visiting from the city.
We were in Sedona.
We weren’t there for the vortexes,
though I cannot now be sure they were not without influence,
as he became increasingly and comically bewitched by the preternatural preponderance of phallic protuberances looming everywhere he looked,
magnified, frozen-magma monuments to the Freudian,
on which a buried boyhood could clamber up
from beneath the layered and cracking patina of adulthood,
as a spring bursts forth to fill that big sky.
Now, twenty years on,
after months of coping and chaffing under life’s constraints,
I have wandered in sandals through late spring snow to be cradled and cleansed in the breath of sighing pines.
I lay my head back on cold granite
and I hear his words fly up to meet that same sky
of ageless, medicinal blue;
benevolent screen for all my projected hopes;
blotter for the hemorrhage of collected demons;
and singing a silent song of release to this ischemic heart.
* * *
Here, I AM.
* * *
where my mother never went, or wanted to,
I am more myself,
and better able to know, honor and absolve
the courage and contortions of her soul…
the camouflaged triumph of her life.
M.L., MayDay, 2017