(colored pencil on slate, “Flora,” by Lori Field)
On the wall in Westminster
the rabbit girl hums herself awake.
The world is not a word–
she remembers sadly
and suddenly from sleep–
a word of light,
so she stretches her wings still.
The heavy spell of pencil and cool slate
ignites her claim,
the quiet magic she has to offer
that most humans seem unable to hear or hold:
I am the light you can heal by.¹
All the wide while we are one,
you and me, god and animal.
Elsewhere, like the sudden onset of spring–
time lapse flowers quivering
from seed to full bloom in a serene second–
the almond brown eyes glance from their corners
from the middle of the beige room.
And there are no words or lips or liquid questions
just answers looking at the sky of my heart–
the brown almond eyes saying
come wander within my borders
which I’ll fling open for you.
This line is a version of the title of Marge Piercy’s poem, “I am the Light You Can Read By.”
Pamela Hughes has an MFA in poetry from Brooklyn College, where she studied with Allen Ginsburg. Her book of poems, Meadowland Take My Hand is forthcoming from Three Mile Harbor Press (www.3MileHarborPress). She teaches Creative Writing at Bloomfield College. Her work has appeared in various literary magazines such as: The Paterson Literary Review; Isotope: Nature and Science Writing; Mother Verse; The Rutherford Red Wheelbarrow Anthology; Margin: Exploring Modern Magical Realism; Literary Mama; The Brooklyn Review; The Minnesota Review; Thema and elsewhere.
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