driven to the refuge of shadows
so not to become her mother’s sacrificial prey
another child offered to uncaring gods
by a parent bent on insane pursuit of their own goals
she watched as her mother danced about with gibbering glee
and even as she shouted in her madness
words that jangled with sharp strident barbs
and waved her anger hotter than any blazing branch
Electra loved her, even as she wept in fear
her features sharpened to a knife’s edge
her voice given over to vinegar’s bite
her gaze still meets like the first freeze of autumn
she has no more reasons for softness’ pretense
the falseness of honeyed concern
once again she is free from usual constraint
keep close watch and take heed
else she might burn the house down around her
again, and as before laugh at the devastation
do you care if your children scream in the flames
three times I came to his door, three times
knocked and knocked until he answered
the first I brought nothing but a quiet entreaty
he turned me away with a shake of his head
the gray skies of autumn and a colding wind
made me shiver as I walked home
the second I offered familial connections
he paused in memory before refusing again
the creak of the ship with its salt-sodden chambers
surrounded me briefly as I stood on his sill
the third I came armed with words that surprised him
keys to a knowledge I should not have known
reluctant but intrigued, he invited me in
a cup of tea, and thus we began,
thus we began, my teacher and I
then a cataclysmic event washes over our world
we find ourselves stunned amidst debris
the illusion of permanence stripped away
in despair we try even more
root our delusions deep into the ground
with harder materials and fortified means
instead we could with newfound awareness
learn from the spider how to build gossamer webs
crackled with beautiful threads
webbed by years passing well, each line a story
whispered lives of master farmers
distant rocky terraces and trees older than human span
infused with craft and love
hands that hold it now, my hands
likewise display patterns of time, historied wrinkles thinning skin
etched by so many memories, moments beyond recall
always, always there is tea
rain pummels hard the roof
wind throws branches against the walls
creek rushes down the street
darkness hits with an audible thud
leaves aged for nineteen years
rest inside a celadon cup
a swirl of hot water poured and then
in a few moments, tea
handle must be held
contemplate time’s passage brief
release then exit
a flow like waves upon the shore
ceaselessly rising and falling
one crest born from another dying
ocean’s water all the same
breathe
shadows in the trails now discard their secrets
ones they’ve gathered from migrating birds
industrious squirrels, and scurrying insects too small to see
these fall to rest in colorful array among leaves
there to slip into stories of unsuspecting travelers
walkers, through-hikers, and bikers on their way too quickly
so that when they next talk in casual conversation
or even engage in discourse profound
their speech will be changed by the lives of others
intangible subtle different threads
memories woven together with those of spiders
look across the span of time
back at the child you think you were
a memory that walks beside you
a song you heard sung every day
a breakfast you ate each morning
there was a boy, a girl, a youth once
a song and a favored food
how do you know that one was you
how do you know what happened
you have never seen your own face
