Lightbringer by Sara Wright

Author’s Note: I wrote these two poems back to back and didn’t realize until afterwards that they belong together.

Storm Sky Invasion

I stand
at the window
peering
through haze
gray on gray
or is it white
a tangle of
bare branches
obscure powdered
hemlocks
lining a frozen
brook
ki
winding
her way
under
ICE
to the sea
where marble eyed
Seal stands
watch
on a stone
centering a lake
whose boundaries
remain obscure
Guardian
of Flowing
Waters
freed from
constraints
freezing
just one
her sleek
coat
I stand
at the window
peering
through haze
gray on gray
or is it white
a tangle of
bare branches
obscure powdered
hemlocks
lining a frozen
brook
ki
winding
her way
under
ICE
to the sea
where marble eyed
Seal stands
watch
on a stone
centering a lake
whose boundaries
remain obscure
Guardian
of Flowing
Waters
freed from
constraints
freezing
just one
her sleek
coat
a dream
shining
through
descent
each step
takes
us
deeper.
I thought
I saw
a fish?
One silver dagger
Twins with
swords
puncture
frigid air
one falls
to ground
water
petrified
by an
unearthly
chill 
ever darkening
skies
blur
the force
of an
oncoming
storm
ICE a
threat
black and
white
crocheted
extremes
hidden
behind
masks
of the dead

(Abstractions
don’t change
the outcome
they’re a form
of insensitivity
and denial)

this storm
has been
gathering fury
for years
burying
us alive
from within
best
to acknowledge
that inner
and outer
are One
the swords
at my window
and mindless
thugs,
potential killers
who roam
the streets
like poisoned fleas
shattering
wooden doors
thieves
on the run
endeavor to
obliterate
all traces
of
women
children
dogs
with
a gun.

Postscript:

Because my choice has been not to engage with the cultural breakdown as much as possible for sanity’s sake, I do not listen to US news though I do follow the Guardian headlines for basic information. What is happening in Minneapolis boggles my mind. Last week when Renee Good was killed I felt like I was falling off the edge of a cliff.  I still cannot comprehend the depth of the evil involved around sending a five  -year  -old to a detention center. Abstracting ugly truths seem to satisfy many intellectual minds. The addicts just leave the TV on all day long. Reporters repeat atrocities without one ounce of heartfelt  emotion.

For good or ill I am left to feel the anguish that others do not. I never got the filter  that most people routinely use and  perhaps I am also too sensitive. Equally or more disturbing are my precognitive dreams of tortured and dead people and children that began early last fall and continue  unabated. In my world I dream horrors first, and then I get to live them.

Yesterday I was surprised to receive an email from a column run by the local newspaper that addressed a potential (?) crisis emerging in Maine as ICE roams our streets and  people are threatened  and 200 detained. Collapsing in fear is not the road I choose to travel, the primary reason for writing this poem just as the worst storm we have had this winter bares down on the state.

Silence is the rule of thumb in this area, unless it’s related to gossip or having ‘fun’, so I was caught unawares (normal for small towns, I am not singling out this area). People are being urged to be careful and to report any suspicious activity whatever that means while thugs are roaming the streets. If these men (and they are always men) hope to intimidate people, they may be succeeding frightening some. Others drag out their guns.

A note on seals. As a young woman I lived on an island with my fisherman husband and spent thousands of hours around seals who inhabited the rocky outcrops around the island slipping in and out of sea with ease. I thought of them as friends who lived in two worlds. It wasn’t until much later that I read Sealskin Soulskin, the story of a woman who lived on land and returned to the sea.

Storyline for next poem:

This tale is about a seal woman whose skin is stolen by a man. She is forced to  live on land until her soul withers. When she hears her soul’s call, she reclaims authentic seal skin and returns to the sea. This powerful tale symbolizes a woman’s connection to the wild, intuitive self, alerting us to the danger of losing ourselves to the dominant male culture, a threat that we must not underestimate.

___________________________

Lightbringer

Will she still
be there
shining
after the storm
moon is on the rise
betrayal in her wake
I peer through
white flakes
at dawn
reflected light
rises out of
a powdery
fringed shawl
Love lights
the darkest
Will she still
be there
shining
after the storm
moon is on the rise
betrayal in her wake
I peer through
white flakes
at dawn
reflected light
rises out of
a powdery
fringed shawl
Love lights
the darkest
Night
I’ve come to
depend on her
measuring winter
cycles by
steadfast
Presence
cloaked or not
diminutive evergreen
Tree of Life
Illuminated since
last
November
each day
we circle her
in
a burst
of joy
each day
my dog Coalie
leads
the way
each day
I murmur
‘we love you’
feeling
we are loved in
return
heartlines flow
crystalline
waters
pour down
deep peace
oh,
Daughter
of the Light
Daughter of
The Night

Lightbringer
Lightbringer

The Miracle
is that
you Live.

Working Notes: I wrote this the night after storm sky invasion – which included the worst storm we have had this season….

the little balsam still shimmers outside my window. yesterday she was the first being i cleared – the snow was 30 inches deep so just getting there on snowshoes was a challenge as is all the rest of winter for this old woman. this morning she is bureid again but i will free her as soon as temps reach zero. i planted this little balsam five years ago never imagining she would become the tree of life this winter…. night or day she shines on though unholy darkness and at some point, i named her the ‘lightbringer’… we circle this tree every single day that allows us to be outdoors. coalie cannot take this kind of cold so lately it has been me. it is hard to explain how such a small tree could throw so much light everywhere all night long leading me to imagine that she might be a magical being? all i know is that she has been a source of  both wonder and awe that never dims. i hope there is a message here especially for women, children, animals – one that will allow us to endure the intolerable. beauty off sets all the ugliness of our times – an antidote to the dispair that often overflows after the next killing… may it be so for us all .