can forgive the past,
it starts singing.
~ Hafiz
we are not violins, but can be
more warmly wooden:worn, as the violin,
forgiving, in its wooden breathing
for instances outside
of our control: like rain,
to dampen spirits-
a warping of a sound board
brave enough to step out
on a windy day,
to tune our very spirit
with an ear to the ground
hearing horse hoofs sing
by their very thrusting
along the way, forcing
apples to fall off trees,
freely, falling- soon to rot
its sweetness, gone bitter-
an ear of apple chutney
softens the blows of horses
heaving their wonder weight
on the earth as they move past
bringing up some history
we thought was buried
but it's only rotting apples
turning to chutney, singing
down on the farm-
down on a child's level
of understanding:
we walk before we talk:
just sounds-- as the child
walks around the apple trees,
she feels the scents the horses left
the sound of power, the music
of eternity hoofing-- as fragrant mud cakes-
hot and dry as the desert earth;
with so little of a past, the child sings
Kate Lamberg
11/28/11
