....The Poetry Of.
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Karen Corcoran Dabkowski ....................
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Promise ....................
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Forsythia gasped its last. ....................
No more yellow stars ....................
crowd green leafed bush;
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it's green ....................
leafed bush again; dowdy. Golden gone. ....................
Early April, it transformed to child in Easter dress, ....................
unabashed by beauty, proud as a rooster ....................
crowing spring. Now it's quiet. Rooted as a plug ....................
at the base of porch, not recollecting ....................
how its little torches ....................
shouted out a permanence it had no right to crow,
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so recently released of snow, forgetting how it goes from freeze ....................
to bloom to silence in its hunter green, haunted ....................
by remembered yellow; it had a look of promise believed ....................
before the sieve that holds us cupped, sucked every last ....................
gold dazzle through. I thought of you ....................
and how you'd never betray ....................
the ones you love. ....................
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Swept Away
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Bridge ....................
washes out. ....................
Sometimes, ....................
there's nothing to be done, but ....................
sit on the bank ....................
and wave your feet in the water, feel the ....................
movement. Know things pass on through ....................
whether you ....................
dam ....................
or not. Thunderous ....................
though it may be, you might grab ....................
hold of a piece that's moving violently ....................
but if it's precious, ....................
hang on tight. ....................
Hold forever. ....................
Shake ....................
your fanny at fate ....................
and hate ....................
all 'destination'. Know you've built ....................
where you stand planted, you and the myrrh you claim ....................
will be enough; if it named you, then you've ....................
earned it. Loosen what will wrest itself away ....................
and let the rapids ....................
take what's left: it's flotsam, dancing ....................
flotsam. Cling to things that will not stray ....................
and hold.
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Ninth Month Madam Butterfly
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How can I tell you ....................
just how vulnerable you look ....................
and brave. Ungainly now ....................
your waddled walk, ....................
belly taut and big, future thrusting out ....................
like a ledge of possibility ....................
you curve your back away from, balancing ....................
the weight of what will be a locomotive ....................
through your life. Bawling, beating air with clenched up ....................
chipmunk fists, filling every day ....................
with twenty five hours full of feelings like a ....................
train ....................
through tunnel: light, face, brief ....................
case, light, ....................
face, ....................
brief-- too fast ....................
to really feel, ....................
but ride it. Let it pull your mouth ....................
wide into grin with the speed of love. Lightning strike of lifetime, ....................
infant ....................
moving through a thin, ....................
young mother's heart ....................
about to burst with it; it's drawing nigh, it's nearly ....................
tapping at the glass, chrysalis ....................
cracked. ....................
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