Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Mother Wichita

Old Mother Wichita wets with twilight.
Blackjacks bruise purple but for the green

lichen half-rubbed away hip-high
to an old bison's itch.

A rich robe of Indian Blanket sways and drapes
the hill to hollow hovered

by a red-tailed hawk circling
in the blue becoming gold becoming thick

with cicadas, fireflies,
and mockingbird song.

Summer light dies slow,
lingers lazy and long.

Then she sighs herself into a star
for night to wish upon.

For Midweek Motif~Nature: Her Words at Poets United

17 comments:

Magical Mystical Teacher said...

You pile image upon image and my imagination goes wild with longing to be there, even in the bison's itch. A wonder-filled poem!

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Oh, my goodness, this builds into a bewitchable draught of magical elixir, that i drank down with wonder. Spectacular!

indybev said...

"summer light sighs herself into a star"...what lovely imagery. I enjoyed your poem immensely!

Carrie Van Horn said...

This is simply a delight to read Mama Jen! I love the line, "Summer light dies slow, lingers lazy and long."

Marja said...

"Then she sighs herself into a star
for night to wish upon."
Stunning Love it. Icam away in peace from your poem Very serene

Martin Kloess said...

...and she wishes: May this be forever. Beautiful

Thotpurge said...

Love the images especially the last one,,,

Old Egg said...

What a beautiful poem especially the last verse.

Sumana Roy said...

OMG..so full of delight!

kaykuala said...

Then she sighs herself into a star
for night to wish upon.

Nature has learned to right itself in the face of disasters and destructions perpetrated by man!

Hank

Mary said...

Ah - the last two lines of your poem are truly stellar! (Smiles.)

Sanaa Rizvi said...

'Summer light dies slow, lingers lazy and long. Then she sighs herself into a star for night to wish upon'... I am literally swooning right now!💘

Sara McNulty said...

Images whirling to a stellar ending. Love this!

Buddah Moskowitz said...

I loved the detail and the sweep of this. Exquisite.

Susan said...

"in the blue becoming gold becoming thick . . ."
Yes, insects, but also the air of twilight! Your poem sent me on a search for "Mother Wichita," LOL, and I found a murderer and Barach Obama's anthropologist mother! But it's the description of the ascent into star that I admire.

Sioux Roslawski said...

Mama Zen--This is so lush. It reminded me of the song "Indian Sunset" by Elton John... a tune that never was played on radio, but one of my favorites.

Kona said...

If this were a poet's final poem, I'd think she could go easy into death knowing "this was the one."

Are you in awe of yourself for having written this? You should be.

The second line and the third stanza could give birth to thrones.