The Muse

(An International Journal of Poetry)

ISSN 2249 2178

 

Volume-2                                              JUNE -2012                                                    Number-1

 

 

The sleeping mind recreates

by Marge Piercy

 

What jetsam the waves of night

bear as they crash on the soft

shores of my sleeping body:

friends long dead stalk through

my mind, my mother stands arms

akimbo, scolding.  My brown

amazon cat Colette rubs against

my inert arm and wakes me.

 

Always I am moving in or out

of houses, apartments created

of pieces of the many nests I built

over decades, before the roots

of my life struggled deep into the sand

and clay of this hill. I am hiding in oaks

on the steep bank of the Severn

where at ten I played on wooden steps.

 

Memories are promiscuous, mating

each with others, birthing weird

progeny that are nothing like my past

yet formed of it.  How the mind sorts

and discards, mixes and mutates

as if at night an alchemist magician

emerges from my jellied brain

to preside over masked theatrics.

..........

 

Mysteries, quandaries

By Marge Piercy

 

How do you pick out one person

to love intensely, out of the thousands

who have tromped, flown, danced,

stumbled through a life?

 

Sometimes love grows like an oak

slowly ring on ring till suddenly

it stands a giant and you keep

house under its shade.

 

Sometimes it thunders down

engulfing you like an avalanche.

Sometimes it strikes from behind

like a mugger and you fall.

 

However it comes, does it stay?

Does it shrink or grow?  Feed

you or feed on you?  Strengthen

or weaken muscles and bones?

 

Each one feels like the only.

Each one changes your face.

You have to decide if you like

the person it makes you become.

You have to decide.

 

 

.................