(Thanks again to Magpie Tales for the prompt!)Lasting
---Easter Afternoon
From tiny holes, my German great-aunts
blew the yolks from their eggs
to craft miniature worlds within.
I marveled at how they made
something so fragile
hold fast. How long did those eggs last,
displayed on a shelf? Kept under glass?
How long will we last,
I don’t ask, drinking wine
with my husband.
How long this tree
we sit under?
The earth we ride?
Blue as an egg being raised
from its dye cup, the sky
knows I can’t crack its shell
to see what’s on the other side.
19 comments:
beautiful
and yes the key is
don't ask
where my thoughts have been lately, too - that fragility, wonderment, where we go when we aren't here, the single thread of life we're all attached to even if it seems we are not.
But, I always like a little mystery, yes *smiling*
really, really love this piece. I always marvel at people who can do such delicate artwork. I also like to leave a bit of it to magic :)
I love your poem ... simply love it!
I don't think we realise how delicate is this painted egg we live on.
But as Suz says, better not to ask.
Kathryn, beautiful as always.
I love the notion of the blue sky being cracked to see what's on the other side. Beautiful piece, Kay.
I've spent half my life wondering what's on the other side.
The unanswerable question. Lasting is about as mysterious as what's on the other side of the sky.
Oh, Kay! That's a beauty of a poem!
The sky as an eggshell ... breathtaking!
As my mother-in-law said in her last days, when asked about her preferences for funeral arrangements, "Surprise me."
Suz, the key, yes you are right. Don't ask, just sit under the tree, sip wine, love the time you are in..
Kat, I love the single thread of life we're attached to even if it seems we're not. Invisible, so often.
Thank you for visiting!
Jessie, those eggs were amazing. I wondered at the time they spent doing such delicate, precise work.
Helen, thank you for like the poem. I began it while walking to the p.O. Friday.
Just when we are tempted to think every thing about the day is ordinary, something extra ordinary happens to remind us ---"the sky knows I can’t crack its shell"
Lovely,
Joanny
Oh yes beautiful, jt
This brings to mind part of the Episcopal service: "this fragile earth, our island home." Would that we all treated it like a painted eggshell!
wonderful magpie! how long will be last, every fragile as the egg...
Lovely very profound. I love this prompt. Blessings
QMM
Joany, the temptation is always there, to think the day ordinary. I walked out at twilight last night and just buried my face in the daffodils, wishing I could make the moment last.
Joan and Dana, thank you. The Episcopalian service is so much more poetic than the Presbyterian I grew up hearing, but I always had the KJV to fall back on!
Brian, I began this poem thinking about how much I disliked hard-boiled eggs as a kid. I always wanted big chocolate eggs. And that led me to the eggshell image. (Now I love hard-boiled eggs.)
Queen Mother, that gorgeous egg of Willow's really got something going didn't it. I hope you have a lovely April.
I like the idea of the sky cracking to reveal what's on the other side.
"The earth we ride"as Janisse Ray writes"feet firmly planted,side by side";such serendipity to find this poem and prompt while your middle name has the echos of this poem/song I collaborated on in my head too.Hope you don't mind the length,it actually is much longer and Joanne makes it a beautiful song.
Jordan and Joanne Rand with Peter Peteet
It is a law
from long ago
that sturdy legs must leave the crib
that readied beaks must break the small
vast wall of white silence
and prod the cowlicked wings
until they fly.
It is an oath
that mighty muscled babies recite
to flattering mirrors in the wee forelight
that they will meet the sweltering noon
with a chiseled jaw of firm delight
enjoying the pains of manhood.
Oh, how I’d like
to forever be
--if I were possibly able—
a dangle of lank on the whole world’s knee
a stripling in the cradle.
But all the simple yolk is gone
and I will starve if I don’t go on.
To claim the pains of manhood
Put on the chains of manhood
I WANT TO FLY; I WANT TO CRY
I AM POUNDING AT THE GREAT WHITE DARKNESS & CANNOT SEE THE SKY
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