Mirka's view (at Heide)

I wrote this poem years ago and it never found a home. Posting it here today in memory of the wonder-full Mirka Mora who made a new home in this city so many years ago and gave us new worlds.

Mirka’s view (at Heide)

On top of this hill we are close to the sky

a heart is carved into the garden

arms of the pomegranate tree

hold swollen pink fruit

dust settles on our hands and faces

nothing has an outline   no buildings

anchor me to cobblestone streets

on a windy day we could float away

grass shimmers yellow and whispers dry secrets

I do not understand   our interpreters here

the Reeds - tall bodies lean smiles

look they grew on the hill

their home contains us   warm eggs fresh bread

wine stains on the wooden table

by day I blink through the back window

golden pear and generous oak soften the sky with shadows

at night all I see is my reflection

round face bobbing   a ghostly balloon

beginning a new life here

we are like children

drawings spill from my hands  

two headed creatures, many with wings

their eyes fat with terror and magic

gazing back at me

serpents flicking black tongues slip out

populate my room seeking gaps under doors

to leak out   leave this haven where we’ve stayed a while

see if they can find a place down the hill

a new home in this city

to call their own