Louise Hawes Quotes

How long would our poem be?
How much would it weigh?
The first verse would be yours, of course−
Age before beauty, you'd say.

You would not rush so much as crest,
a wave that spreads and breaks
across the eyes and ears to fill
some deeper, inner space.

The next verse would be mine,
self-conscious, yes, it's true,
and full of fits and starts
but bits of music too.

Would we share some lines then,
just we two?
Here's a place for my words;
here, only yours will do,

And would it matter, really,
after all is said and done,
who made which piece of glory?
Who, this moon? Who, that sun?

The pen drops from my hand,
but there's still more to say.
So I must write our final line,
which is simply
stay.

Lamium

Migraine dreams, jagged seams,
A badge of love and pain.
Or dreamy eyes, sleepy eyes,
Drooping, closing, losing light.
Packages scattered under the tree,
Some torn open, some tied tight.

Is there a heartbeat in those purple veins?
Are those embryos or mouths or rosary beads?
The color of my first dress, gathered with love,
Fairy cups stirred with blades of grass,
notes clustered on a windy score,
Three blooms, three friends, alas!

Grape flowers, cloud flowers, love flowers,
Paper parasols upside down, a butterfly herd
Stopped to rest by a deep green pool.
Petals small as a child's tears good-bye,
Dropped stitches everywhere
From a blanket the color of sky.

Safe Deposit

I thought that I could keep it−
the light on the running tide,
how your eyes give you away
no matter what you hide.

I thought that I could hold it−
the forest along the sand,
your neck bones like pearls
underneath my hand.

But time's school has taught me
how petals brown and die.
There's no saving pleasure.
Don't try. Don't try.

Daughters of the Moon,
children of the Night,
rise like dew together
until the morning's light.
The owl's cry is our anthem,
our altar is the sky.
The Great Mystery is our Mother
to whom now, sisters, fly.