Little Pomegranate Seed
for newborn Sachie Inanna Hara
Your mother has been lush
with you, deeply-sown
round to bursting.
Little pomegranate seed,
you in your chamber
under her heart
dreamed of bursting too.
Blossoming into rosy red flesh,
succulent fruit, untethered
from her garden
you feel the surge,
the wave of urgent love
on which you ride
calls you out of your seedling sphere
into life.
Little pomegranate seed,
your father holds your mother in his arms.
The Queen of Heaven and Earth holds him,
all rock with wild
astonished cries—grounding,
guiding this fertile basket pouring
you out.
Your mother moves continents,
the ground swells, a cavern forms.
Little woman, pomegranate seed,
Grandmother Inanna catches you,
caresses you, surrounded by women, carries you
into the world of
your father.
See your father’s face and all
the Fathers and Mothers before you!
The tribes are gathered for
your forthcoming.
Little pomegranate seed,
Let your Japanese fathers name you Happiness,
Let the Great One name you for Herself.
Back-Seat Baby
For Fiona, born in the back seat of a New York taxi
Back-seat baby,
everything is moving
fast!
Fast, and in your own
sweet, speedy time.
Fiona-the-free,
fierce proud, shining one,
Celtic mermaid, leaping like
sea-trout, named for the pure
white place
between wave
and foam,
bark and tree.
Named for magic and mercy,
for dancing, deep ones
rushing, rushing up
to the surface
into wild, big-city air.
Rush-hour is your hour
back-seat baby
born at just the right moment:
with horns honking,
traffic jamming,
street folks bustling,
pedestrians crossing
and overhead the
towering buildings,
canyons of stone, brick, steel
the birth canal
a busy street--
your street
baby!
Little Fee, fierce, fresh
new-born, salted
delivered en route,
on the fly,
in a hurry,
ready to go:
"Hello, big World!
Here I come!"
I'm the back-seat baby--
born to fly,
born to drive,
born to say:
"I’m the one in the driver’s seat.
Get to know me,
if you can.
I'm Fiona of the
white wings,
jet trails,
cloud banks,
slipstreams.
Ready or not
here I come!"
Fauna
for Hayley
Entering the frame,
striding through a portrait
you made for me
I listen to voices,
placed by your knowing, colors calling
the family—mine and yours--
back home.
Fauna,
you and I have bloomed
so many times together:
tying our skirts around our waists
straddling the mossy rocks,
we washed our hair,
long and silken at the river's bank,
captured through reflected faces,
even older than ours
Fauna,
do you know how many times
from All Time we have shared?
So many lives aligned, incarnations, really.
The memory of all these forms
of mothering, daughtering, sistering--
you lighting the way--
I say the words, make incantations.
And so,
however it is our paths have crossed:
vision and voice,
colors and characters
our witching walk proceeds.
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