What the Muses Leave Behind

A blue flame dances besotted with a black breeze. Silky the silence, sunlight drifting through.  We are in a slumber of cloudbanks, Advises the wren - Chereet, Chereet, Chereet   Sunken the silence, sunlight spreads wide,  A tumble of kids spilling into the day. They will live our dreams if we are lucky. If we can surrender these worried minds.   The tumble discovers a coconut cake on the table. A red tabby fast disappears behind a door. If grace can match their voracious appetites, A distant moon would witness, such is our prize.    A red tabby slow emerges, mischief under paw, Upset for the plastic bag caught in barbwire. We have prayed to Luna Moths tonight,  As we ride the loud river of tires back home.   Redeemed by a red plastic cup rolling beside us. In the trees are ravens caw caw cawing too. Better not forget to stop and look around,  See if a blue flame did marry her black breeze.  

  There was a barred owl call, for long minutes “Who cooks for You?”   and the little white dog, turning his terrier head to the sound,    raising his whiskered nose, howling in reply.     Later Jupiter and Mars shone brighter than the satellites.    I suppose it was because of  my mother’s  spreading light.     I am winning at canasta,   I am losing my way as the eldest daughter.   The harness, I mean crown rides heavy.     How could we know that she meant what she said in that late afternoon,   salty, so often her favorite tongue.   How could we heed her announcement, “I am done”    It rang hollow to our intentions.     She made up her mind and a few hours hence, even   before we would finish our farewell, she took her last breath.   My fingers pressed against the fleeting pulse in her femoral artery.   It stilled, and I turned into stone ledge u...