nie - Hello Poetry

nie Nov 2016

i keep you in a rabbit pelt
small warmth, handful of heart
as you were

meadows pass through rain-
the days of ungrowth- and never
blossom again in spring
there was a smell about
the grass, whispering
softly of sun
and it was always cinder

people are all fox-faced, here

- but what would you know of red, unlit spark in the night, you stand
unwrapped, unearthed, yet settled
breathing your first air
with lungs too big to whisper, now too tall for flight
and you will settle
into teeth and fight, soon enough, far from the summer
sun that kissed you
-r discarded skin

i keep your fur. i keep you there, always the rabbit, all wrapped in memory, wide-eyed, bright.
i keep my hands forever free of bite and love the dust.

losing people left and right, i whisper lullabies

#birdsong #nievai

nie May 2016

to walk through gloaming

this is the treasure we seek:
wings out of tune with the world
& names to be swallowed like berries,
dark forest stains on the fingers.
oh to have forest stains on these fingers

this is the treasure we hold:
the forest has always been here.
~

and here, i was a weary wanderer
and my fire held no magic, we were no wild things, we watched
as the silence picked up our broken pieces to examine
while we could not break it in return,
wisdom in vain.

now, i keep a jar of ashes.
let me place it
gently next to your pillow, a touch and a whisper,
a gift for good dreams. i still remember
the should have been beauty and the beauty that was.
and now, sometimes,
i am a robin.

(as wild as the city lets anything be,
not fearing fences, not finding the open sky
but baptised by the moon between pines.)

#birdsong #nievai

Feb 2016

Ayana Harscoet

metaphysical

am I unique? fear not, she says, for
no one breathes pine needles the way you do and
no one bleeds stars the way you do and
no one, no one whispers of scarlet mornings
the way you do.

but what, then, does it mean
to be here? is it your voice
dancing in my dream last night? is it
the way our fingertips speak of
quartz, of ink? is it the icicle
antlers we planted this morning? is
it the soft scratch of birch bark? of
outside? is it the emptiness
that defines us?

all of this and more: I cherish
these sunlit midnights,
the memories of broken
storm.

nie Jan 2016

shadow falling

little finches in your head. and they pinch, pinch, pinch
but what is left to wake up.

awakened: rising shadows, rigid hands.
bandage tightly – does it remind you of the rings you used to wear? where you belonged. you used to be
a lady of many rings, more bird than nest. (the harpies scream)

(harpies sing of truth and times that are, gloating. we are so little. the present falls on us
and we are so much less.)

you need to send apologies to the finches. you plant acacias. you call your ears
traitors
and then there are dreams that leave you with a silent glow. the shadow forgotten, the past
engaged in ballroom dances, vivid. you recall vividly. there are rings on your hands
and you know all things in dreams
and you have birds in your head because there is more to find than in the sun.
the harpies scream.

(you do not. you are silence, glowing.)

#nievai #birdbites #visits-to-refugium