I remember this thin wiry girl
hair braided back from the fire in her eyes
looking out with an unrelenting question
on the stubborn visage of injustice
demanding equal time in the sun
nourishment for the wild flowers
beside the rusted tracks of a long gone train.
She was a force to be reckoned with
more comfort to the hard luck hill jacks
than the elite through which she passed
her presence a singular virtue
discouraged at times but not deterred
walking in fire with the grace
of a street wise angel
seeing through the masks and misery
with a flaming promise to somehow
make art of us all.
*****************************************************
Part of me remains on the island
a serpentine shard of soul
wedded to the immovable
standing against the gray fog
crawling up the channel
more rock than flesh
more gull cry than voice
I hear it far away
feel it in my wandering feet
reminding me what must be given
in love’s subtle measure.
Aug. 27, 2010
