poem: It Was Home

what was there to say? except that

     a plot of land in my heart

    recognized you first

 as the rightful holder of the deed.

 

there were no transaction costs

    no surveyors drew lines

        on so many maps-

 we simply closed our eyes

     and walked there

 

barefoot- already knowing

    the path, like the one through

   our forests, warm underfoot

 strewn just with pine needles

          and dappled green,

 where the soft light itself becomes

 

a caress of your hand

  stroking my skin    

in early afternoon;

  cypress and oak are one,

   transforming into the essence of we.

 

things money men never understand.

    our language being

 something alien to their tongue-

 

when an Indian lays claim to land

    it is not as its master,

   but as its servant, its protection.

 

 and my stubborn heart?

 

it serves your wilderness,

as faithfully as it has ever served

   anything, it follows

 behind your footfalls,

   examines the spaces you pass by.

 

  where you are is home, and since

 I cannot be home, with you-

      I wander in unfamiliar

   territory, deserts and suburbs

        and savannahs maybe...

 

 endlessly searching,

   looking admittedly for what

      reminds me of your laugh,

your heart, your vision,

  the echo chamber

     curved in ribs

like your heart's own land-

 

for one little plot of ground

  anywhere, vast enough:

   that can accept the foundations

  of a mountain servant's

      quiet dreams, as wide as the sky

    in Chiapas; as deep

   as the seafloor trenches

     that once made us this place.

 

even before it was inhabited,

      it was our home.

Author's Note

picture from the Ranchos Quetzal Forest Preserve in Baja Verapaz, Guatemala, July, 2013

translated into Spanish at:
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/zorra_encantada/1229622/

Reviews

[Frieda P]

This is quite lovely poetry Marie, the visual and the mere feel of it are stunning, and warm, I can see your heart in every word you've written here....

endlessly searching,
looking admittedly for what
reminds me of your laugh,
your heart, your vision,
the echo chamber
curved in ribs
like your heart's own land

Striking stanza~loved the entire work, kudos, it's stunning.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you for the review, Frieda. I apologize for the late response. I have been away mending some things that broke in me. Still not there yet, but slightly better. It makes me glad that you enjoyed my words, and that the visuals spoke to you in this one. Thank you again.

[Jack...]

Wow. I loved that opening stanza Marie, I love the imagery it painted in my mind. The poem over was a wonderful collection of thoughts and dreams, for "even before it was inhabited, it was our home." Lovely, simply beautiful.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you very much, Jack, for reading and reviewing today. I've been away a while dealing with some personal deadlines and other "stuff," and have been pretty far out of the loop. That firs tline was actually inspired by a DeVotchka song, "Along the Way," with their wonderful lyrics:

"it's more than the steel and stone/ more than flesh and bone/ there's a little piece of land in me/ that no other man can own."

That line just always stuck with me, and I realized one day that if we are to let someone in, we have to honor their own silent interior spaces, as much as find someone who we are comfortable allowing to dwell in ours. It cannot be handed over to another, maybe, but it can be visited, inhabited, or gifted, I think.

[s y e]

Sorry I have not reviewed you recently, Marie - things have been hectic lately. Hope all is well.

This is a great write, as always you've really got the wording spot on and really drag the reader into what you're writing. Like a movie playing on our screen, your imagery is that powerful. Great job.

Is your friend - or was it niece - on this site now?

[Marie Anzalone]

Thanks, Noodle, Life and my own "stuff" have kept me away for several weeks. I was trying to make a connection with my ex's oldest daughter, who is like a daughter to me. Unfortunately, she chose to go back to a situation where she is not permitted internet access. She is your age, but kept as a virtual prisoner in her home. There is no more I can do at the moment. If she ever gets online again, I will make the introduction post-haste.

Thank you, too, for the review and the kind words. I try to use a lot of imagery in my pieces to tell my story and convey mood, place, time, etc. I do try to put my reader there. I am so glad this speaks to you.

Best to you, and I will try not to be a stranger.