Women's Empowerment Stories ...

my garden; and the wind speaks, go, go*
~ Patti Sinclair

my garden

I want to stay on my step
locked-
into looking at my garden,
my tea
          tablet
                   candle; lit

I am the strange lady,
legs as white as the Beluga
hair-granite
winter shawl to soak up
     rain,
pearlescent nails-chipped,
praying to Buddha; She
who sits lotus in the dirt

waking up, I will remain
on my stoop,
until my flowers have grown
strong enough to withstand
storms, strong enough,
to live with debris

© 2005 by Patti Sinclair

and the wind speaks, go, go*

and the wind speaks go—go--
to the landscapes
you drink with your heart
where authenticity is air
voice is truth
your being is the earth
brown, red, black-
where the sun’s warmth
smells like genuine,
things are round,
yours is a world where
mystery is loved for its
shimmering touch
        death, the sweet dessert.

and the wind speaks go—go--
to the hills where horses
the colour of butter,
clouds gently shake out
summer like a woman wrapped
in gingham
shakes sheets before hanging,
--go—go--
to where the silent fields cup
the colour of leaves, then--
slowly swallow them.

and the wind speaks go—go--
to the place
where you rest your head
in your lover’s chest
where you dream of birth,
where at the bottom of the pool
you see a life’s map
glistening like Celtic knots
woven with crystal.

and the wind speaks go—go--
to the pause between the breaths-
to where the forest green
as fiddleheads shelters you,
where your house
is an ocean’s eyelash on the sand
where you live upon your bed,
the sun; your furnace
the cloud; your quilt
--go—go--
to where the village
sings at sunset
words strung like beads,
plop like dancing fish
into water,
where the ocean’s eyelids
droop, flutter, fall
like a child’s eyes at bedtime
close to a fairy tale.

and the wind speaks go—go--
to the place of rest,
           universal silence
so that you may find
what is between
your feet and the ground
- and you may land there.

© 2005 by Patti Sinclair


* this line is borrowed from Nasdijj’s,
Geronimo's bones: a memoir of
my brother and me

Savour more of Patti's poems at http://poet-at-large.blogspirit.com