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Dark cypresses--
The world is uneasily
happy;
It will all be forgotten.
--Theodore
Storm
Mother of roots, you have not
seeded
The tall ashes of loneliness
For me.
Therefore,
Now I go.
If I knew the name,
Your
name, all trellises of vineyards and old fire
Would
quicken to shake terribly my
Earth, mother of
spiraling searches, terrible
Fable of calcium, girl.
I crept this afternoon
In weeds once more,
Casual,
daydreaming you might not strike
Me down. Mother of
window sills and journeys,
Hallower of searching
hands,
The sight of my blind man makes me want to
weep.
Tiller of waves or whatever, woman or
man,
Mother of roots or father of diamonds,
Look:
I am nothing.
I do not even have ashes to rub into my
eyes.
James Wright
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poems about / on: mother,
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woman,
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fire,
dark,
poetry,
world,
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women
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James Wright
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James Wright
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