tanka

tanka--
small songs I sing
to join
my voice to other voices
hidden in the grass

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Mare's Milk



the clay unicorn
my mother made
under a blue moon. . .
only the buckskin mare
listens to her singing
 
Christmas eve—
she snips and stitches
through the night,
transforming the bride doll
into a tamer of wild horses

the wheeled steed
my father built—
I roam
from kitchen to hearth
and home again
 
burrowing
deeper into the hayloft
with my book—
is it rain or Pegasus
drumming on the roof

born with a caul
the filly struggles
to her feet—
my task
to find her name

 childhood living
is easy to do—
bareback
and unbridled
I give my mare her head
 
trudging
on foot for decades,
I glance behind me—
the dusty hoof-prints
              of a centaur

 a carousel horse
with wind in her mane—
near dusk
I leave the carnival
for a moonlit wood
 
prayer flags flutter
on the evening breeze—
a gate opens
for the wind horse
             within me


kernels 1:2, July 2013

*The quotation in # 6 is from The Rolling Stones’ Wild Horses


 
 


 

2 comments:

  1. A rich sequence, to be read again and again. Effective, how you open and close this. My v. favorite tanka are the wheeled steed and burrowing. Wonderful pics of artwork too. (I assume the first was made by your mother?)

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    Replies
    1. Thanks, Janet! Yes, the upper photo is the ceramic tile my mother made long ago. Wish I had one of the "wheeled steed" made out of a log, legs, casters, and imagination!

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