Saturday, April 3, 2021

Holy Saturday

 

Here is my white flag.

 

I cannot save you.

I cannot save me.

 

There is a deep hole in the heart of the earth,

and too many beings are going to their grave.


Bird-song this spring is thin,

sometimes just one lone song

where once was a chorus, a cacophony.

I am sad into my bones,

into the marrow of the Mother

who weeps and weeps and cannot be silenced.

 

Do I wonder why

this cry from my own soul

when all my relations suffer so?

 

I do not raise my flag of surrender.

It is draped like a burial cloth of

polar bear pelts shrouding ice-floes,

across forests fired to white ash.

 

                             


This day dying voices reach me.

The dead sleep in me.

 

My tattered flag waves

over a garden I (still) kneel to plant.

And an angel, from realms distant

from this dissonant age,

(still) flutters her wing

 

in the breath arising

 

a white dove hymns her mournful call.

 

 

 ~April 3, 2021 ~ Diane Pendola

Polar bear photo: IraMeyer.com


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