Visitation The Mother, Anne: You have to leave before the neighbors start to talk before the synagogue becomes a place of condemnation. We have to hope whoever brought you low will dream of when and how to claim you as his own. Some pilgrims leave from here tomorrow. They’ll journey south, across Judea’s hills, so you’ll be safe enough. Don’t cry . . . Your cousin’s house is there somewhere and I’m sure well, almost certain that she’ll take you in. There’s no need to tell her yet . . . You hardly show at all.
The Daughter, Mary: I wish that women were allowed to ride astride a donkey’s back; sitting sideways makes my stomach heave. Perhaps I’ll walk partway today, but all the stones will slow me down and then the men will grow impatient. No one ever told me why we cannot speak to men. I want to ask for rest and shade – the sun has set my veil aflame and yet last night was cold, the ground unyielding. Is that the house? It has to be her house What will I say? What excuse will I use for coming unannounced? I’m so afraid. There’s a woman coming from the well, but she’s too old to be the one my mother talked about and yet . . .
The Long Savannah of the Blue Nancy
The graphics contained in this book
Some poems relate to particular inc
The Cycles of Time
Interdependence Each season leaves
January nights Come early and stay
Winter is leaving So sunsets stay f
Sudden snow in spring Lilacs hide t
Easter hyacinths Feed on harvest gl
Hummingbirds hover We sit still and
Long before sunset Half-moon rules
October’s daughter Balances polar
Time is like autumn Its brush turns
Bits and Pieces God is like the loo
From the Barn at Weston We huddle l
Reflections I love the beauty of yo
The will to let go isn’t enough.
Revelation Happens (One Day at a Ti
For Tony de Mello Whether or not a
Imagining Immortality We fall throu
Adam/Autumn An instant burst of Lov