Forthcoming on the website The Artistry of Life


May 2006

Red cedar had been the solstice tree,
honored with the ornaments of a dead marriage;
gone to ground New Year's morning
(fifth in a history of Yuletide firs).
In the drought now her inner branches browning
despite daily drinks from the well.
Yet, there's a nest:
honored with the ovoid ornaments of pale blue with dun speckles.
Then, the yellow V of need
open alone
joined soon
the mousy-downed bodies daily seen.
Although the bread is not stale,
it is flung to the withering grass.
Although the rain does not come,
the cedar cradles these babies
who smell my breathing
in the passage of burning days.





(coconut after mirror)
i grew in my mother's hair
felt the pulse of burgeoning
against the salty songs of seawater
always underfoot

i did not know i was a green orb,
but only that my siblings housed spiders;
and that the reaches above us all
changed without motion

fur comes to us all, it seems.
and then we became aware of our weight
against our mother's straightness
and fell    let her go finally
until the hilarity of her tresses
were between us and
that which glows always.

 

Su Zi

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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