Four poems by Nancy McCleery:
What we’re doing, first
and foremost
writes Colette, when we seek friendship
or give it is to cry “Sanctuary! Sanctuary!”
That cry….the best thing in us.
The gift of presence, fragrant as cinnamon,
dry leaves of a sycamore, ritual applause,
a cloister for celebration.
Of sanctuary, Colette advised
that we keep the rest dark
as long as we possibly can.
*
Shape of a friend, guise of a foreigner.
That one, and the other.
§
December Notes
The backyard is one white sheet
Where we read in the bird tracks
The songs we hear. Delicate
Sparrow, heavier cardinal,
Filigree threads of chickadee.
And wing patterns where one flew
Low, then up and away, gone
To the woods but calling out
Clearly its bright epigrams.
More snow promised for tonight.
The postal van is stalled
In the road again, the mail
Will be late and any good news
Will reach us by hand.
§
Why
are you
casting your line
into fast moving waters
when there
in the small quiet pool
the one in shadow
you are
the one fish
you must catch
§
When It Is Over
The back arches
the arms thrown overhead
then the words
"Your electric days
are in my dying hands"
Hearing this
the face lifts to the sun
falls golden
It is meant for each of us
life in such arms
that when it is over
we go in a cry of passion
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