THE DRAGONFLY'S MOTHER
We stepped into a world of life
Wide eyed and staring, the dragonflies
Over the waters, through the desert
Followed me.
Two ruby dragonflies, and four turquoise
Permitted my lead through columbine and honeysuckle,
Stardust, squaw bush, hummingbird sage, ninebrush, ironwood,
Lemonadeberries, small maguery, cholla,
Fairy duster, deer grass, scarlet larkspur,
Deadly hemlock and festive holly, not so festive in spring,
Silk tassel bush, Ste. Lucile bush-mallow, snow berry,
Islander's ironwood and tree poppy,
Pink, branching dogwood who I once climbed,
The woolly brickellis, our family's dyachs,
Dwarf tanbark-oak, wester mugwort, cottonwood button bush,
Mojave antelope and Creosote bushes, Apache plane,
Jojoba, four-leafed pinyon.
Through mission manzanito and red shanks,
Through morning glory and black ianthus,
The flame and aqua dragons soar in my wake.
By the ponds, where they are comfortable,
We heard the frogs croaking, the chittering, chattering,
Merrily laughing, twittering, tweeting,
Lively gabbering, whistling, singing,
Coughing, calling, swooping, chirping song birds,
Lark, wren and mockingbird, quail and black bird and blue jay.
I admire butterflies, ants, and bees within their honey tree,
But Mother calls them bugs!
Soft scents surround,
Pungent sage and rose, the sweat of the rain forest.
I sigh, and Mother claims time to go!
The watery light reflects sunlight to the sides.
The muddy liquid is surrounded by calling red,
The sun, bright orange, flame, jaunty yellow, spring,
Greens and greens, turquoise, gentle blue, indigo, violet,
And amaranthine budding flower petals.
Floating plant life, above and below,
That a gentle zephyr blows to deck my locks.
Mother quickly brushes it out.
The heated solar luminescence burns the back of my neck,
And a metal hand rail raises a welt on my hand.
There are always the same number of people, but away from the entrance
Is silence, scratching graphite putting grey on white, crunching grit,
And no speech.
These cultivated plants aid Gaea, but Demeter never is birthed,
Although one feels Persephone's existence and lack in six months.
I observe obsessively. Mother
Leaves me behind and does not notice.
So many signs, the human labels, names of lives to control.
Lacking a name, free goes the soul, tumbling and stumbling, but life flows.
A sweet, sweet smell hits me like a wall, and Mother walks on.
The fairies and dwarves and stars in the plants
Hide from the sight of doubt.
Struggling toward a gentler light,
Ducks and lizards and squirrels peek at faith.
A merry, musical water fall
Is abruptly compared to
The plop, plop, plop, running fountains dripping.
Leaves and herbs and pungent flowers,
But I am forced to choke on the gust of tobacco smoke.
Faintly running motors of airplanes overhead
Are louder yet than the shrill shrilling of a hawk's cry.
Dragonflies dance among
Green, emerald, chlorophyll, kelly, lime, olive,
Grass, verdant life spans echoing in infinite fractals,
Curling life struggling upwards.
The dirt steals from beneath the veined concrete.
A heavy atheism kills ghosts, wraiths, apparitions and revenants.
The underground Sidhe cannot come forth
Though their names have been stolen,
And dragons dance delicately
Following me
Until the door of Mother's car shuts them out.
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