Friday, December 20, 2013

November Senryū ~ 2013

November Senryū


mizquitl tree | her place to sit | write letters to the future

this morning I wake | hearing jazz from your last room | know you are here

cuando dice un beso | siento miles | por todo el cuerpo

for survival | The People danced | all evil away

untangle this mess | we've made of Turtle Island | for children’s future

dance the balance | dance back clouds and rain |dance dance dance

we pray for the world | we are tiny bits of light | in the mother's web | 
born powerful in word | our deeds should be for right 

Georgia we miss you | secret smiles tucked in brush strokes | what a legacy

though innocent | our babies learn early | they are presumed guilty

sometimes praying | for loss of ones who've not loved | enough to deserve us

frosty autumn moon | full winter forecast | icy wind her companion

crows calling warnings | telling cars to quiet down | listen to the wind | 
they say on the avenue | we so need to free ourselves

we traded places | you love my Great Lake city | I fell for the Bay

in the thickest rind of night | when moon-void-of-course | sky a thick inky soup | 
she dances in the dark | wanting loved ones to return

a bigger purpose | our lives a journey to live | leave a legacy

your mighty voices | the sea's roar crying out | for all those now silenced 
they void green worlds |turn them sacrifice zones | non-places where rivers burn

sand paper scorched | heart bleeding for a sure loss | mind guilty of hope

we are born and sprout | grow into lanky wild weeds | then one day we go | 
with luck we sent out shoots | that bloomed brilliant as the stars

mornings I hear her | voice muffled through glass calling | I'm still here on the path | 
of a destiny foretold | zigzagging trouble

mother tree a legacy | elders passing life |to the next of kin 
death leaves a hole | we try to fill with living | and love an answer

misunderstanding | heartache wanting to be healed | when words aren't enough

smooth wooden boxes | relics from days before | cardboard became home

she is from this place | her blood mixed with rainwater | red earth in her skin

puny in comparison | to that which rises | a natural son | 
or stardust and light daughters | not needful of false fingers

she flies away | always returns home | to her city by the bay

our ancestors die | pass away into the light | in time we follow

Copyright © 2013 Odilia Galván Rodríguez. All Rights Reserved.