image source:  http://www.city.cambridge.on.ca/photo_galleries/images/winter-grass.jpg

IN SEASON

by Rebecca Rehfeld, November 30, 2007

The birds don't come on windy days
they're grounded by gale-busters
in late November
that rip
at rusted winter oak leaves
and clot the feeders

The jack rabbits
tunnel under tree roots,
and ducks
exiled
by indurate ice,
hide in the brush

But the deer remain.
They come in threes and fours
to munch on the sweet wild growth
that springs from ice-covered quicksand,
and is only in season
November through March.

image source:    http://www.duncanmcfarlane.ns.ca/details/two_wolves_seated.html

CHANT
by Rebecca Rehfeld

He speaks
in a voice six centuries past
and tells me
that in his lifetime
I was lowborn,
not allowed to speak beyond
a nod or bow.
I served in silence
and helped the braves prepare for hunt
by smoothing warm bear grease
over their bodies
to ease the drag of animal hide against
their warrior backs
and thighs.

When I was old enough
I noticed him --
the tall one
wit the thick, black hair women
liked to touch,
and sanded voice
that left us drenched.
In silence, I watched
sun and shadow undulate
against the swell and hollow of his
long body
the way he swayed
when he talked to the wind
canted prayers for rain
and told us of things to come
with this wild drawings of two wolves,
circling

They said he was a soothsayer
living his last life
that he did not eat meat
had never known a woman
and spent his days cross-legged
in prairie grass
keeping vigil

In secret I visited his drawings
again and again
to trace their movements with my fingers
excited by the adventurous spirit of the wolves
until one day he came to me
both antelope and bear --
graceful, hard

We circled like wolves
until I came alive inside
and began to chant
to feel the ecstasy of my voice
the swell of vibration
and know the thrill of making sound.

STILL

By Rebecca Rehfeld, November 30, 2007

When the owl called long
after midnight
my cat went for cover
and I knew to listen for secrets --
     watch for you

She said you would crawl like night
into my dreams
melt 20 years in a moment with your
faded eyes and incarnadine fire
that hold no heat
or heart
     still

image source:  http://chandra.harvard.edu/photo/2005/orion/orion_still6.jpg=108&gbv=2&ndsp=18&svnum=10&hl=en&sa=N

  Image source:  http://www.alternativehealth.co.nz/depression.jpg

BLUE

-Rebecca Rehfeld, December 17, 2007

One morning

I awoke to a behemothic

blue bed

My husband went to work

without a word

never even glanced my way

The maid came and

made the bed with me in it -

just went about her business despite my

silent

protests,

the chippie

as if I she couldn't see me

among the 800 thread count

and square folds -

smaller than a speck

speckless

When she came to strip the bed

on laundry day

I was balled up, tossed down the chute

and promptly buried under

my husband's boxers

and other soiled discards

I should have been worried about

time in the washer

but in order to worry

there must be expectation

So easy to be

a speck

The spin cycle gave me a little trouble

Still, I felt almost cogent

when I emerged

so I tried to think of the dryer

as a vacation somewhere

in the southwest

But I was

just a speck

that might blow away like top soil

at any moment

and become lost with the other specks

 

FROM THE EAVES

Rebecca Rehfeld, January 3, 2008

Some winters

like men,

are harder than others.

You can tell

by the Bastille-like

stalactites --

Daggers that hang heavy

from the eaves

like frozen bruises

that won't go away

until the spring melt,

And even then

may leave a few scars




Image source:  http://www.arctic-photo.com/images/ice/images/icicle_sky.jpg

 

Fuelling

Rebecca Rehfeld

A capricious summer wind

squeezes zigs of rain

through the pumping screen

where two bodies, frescoed and

folded into the softest

of hiplocks

ride the long glide,

and burble monosyllabic

moans

-- the coffee waits

SUMMER SPRITES

Night falls,
summer night
when the last red streaks leave the sky
Gaia opens to ether
what she cannot hold.

You and I, summer sprites
stroke the sea, skim the sky,
like twin tides in twirl
unbounded,
These sweet summer nights

And at autumn's eve
you take my hand
mortal again,
Every season ends.


Image source:   

http://www.irisquilts.com/ekw/irisquilts/images/spritely-gifts.jpg