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Changers: A Family Novel

Some of my family and I visited a place in VW called Fort New Salem near Clarksburg in the late 90's. It was a collection of very old buildings brought in from here and there so they wouldn't be torn down, mostly from the 1700's. A small church, printer's shop, log cabins holding a loom and other antique weaving equipment, a wonderful old tavern, a wood worker's and a black smith shop. It was this last place where I met a man so attractive that time itself seemed to simply stop. All the people there were in costumes that reflected the period and he was no exception. Long thick brown hair tied at the neck with a ribbon, sweating from the hot coals, soot on his face from working the red hot metal on the anvils. He stopped to talk to us and I simply blanked when he held out his large strong hand to take mine. Later I wrote this poem.

 
For the Blacksmith
     at Fort New Salem

In a single moment,
     the beat of my heart,
You held out your hand
     and asked my name.
Suddenly tongue tied and off balance,
     I had to think to remember it.

As your hand encircled mine,
     firm and gentle,
We were walking in a meadow, the body of
     the Mother enfolding us in her magnificent mountains.
In a clear stream we submerged ourselves in
     the flow of the Goddess,
The water so cold, the places we touched
     each other so warm.
I stroked the soot from your face and 
     the water rinsed your hair in gentle currents.
We left the water and let the warm breath of
     the Goddess dry our bodies.
We lay on an old hand sewn quilt,
     in the dappled shade of a big Ash.
The sacred fire of the sun warming us, the
     gentle shade cooling us.


I blink and I am back in your shop,
     my hand in yours,
And I remember my name... 

For Allen

Cold rain outside
Warm music inside
Soft skin, gentle breath
Flames dance, we sleep finally.

(1/13/2005)

This is a NOT-Haiku I wrote when I was at Fairy Stone State Park in January, 2004. I was there to give a Workshop at Winterquest and took a walk by myself to the lake. They had let water out of it, so it was very low. There was a small group of men with metal detectors combing the swimming area. I went out on a long dock that stood mostly on mud and sat for a while. It was very windy and I could see the breezes as they passed on the surface of the water. It was quiet and... soft.

Cool wave ribbons
Herron flies
Wings touch water

Your eyes are the green
Grecian sea...

Let me dive into your warm depths...

And feel your gentle currents

Softly caress my bare skin...

(I took these photographs underwater during my cruise to the Bahamas in 1988 (except the one of myself; my diving partner took that one); the poem is from one I wrote for a friend in 1989.)