Intuition

 

 

 

 

 

intuition

Intuition

( For my grandmother, Mary Rose)

The mother of my mother

said crows could read

the veins in a leaf

 

or how seeds were arranged

in a blossoming tree.

The birds were more than birds.

 

And often, I wondered

if she flew with them

during sleep

leaving her body to pluck

olives from Circe’s vineyard

 

or sip water from the stream

where Joan walked

inheriting a whirlwind

of voices and visions,

 

of cypress and poppies

turning blessed in their hues

as the feast day garments

of a priest.

 

Daughter of her daughter,

I often wondered

how she felt

tasting the sustenance

of witch and saint

 

and months later making

New Years a ritual

of scattering hearth ashes

along the snow

and airing the house

 

to let in the caw

of crows. the gut song

of ourselves renewed

echoing —

into the future.

 

 

3 comments

  1. Wendy,

    You have created a lovely mystique and named it perfectly..

    It comes as no surprise that you accept your grandmother’s
    wisdom about the birds. It is a part of your empathetic soul,
    and one of the reasons you are such a fine poet.

    So much enjoyed your poem!

    Sarah

    Like

  2. Delicious lines here:

    “of voices and visions,
    of cypress and poppies
    turning blessed in their hues
    as the feast day garments
    of a priest.”

    A pleasure to read this.
    take care,
    Kerri

    Like

  3. Dear Sarah and Kerri

    I am deeply touched by your insight and kind words! I am so glad you enjoyed this and have shared in wonderful grandmother’s view of nature and birds. She was a very wise woman, intuitive and closely connected to things the visible and the invisible things in her/our immediate world.

    Many thanks,
    stay warm
    Wendy

    Like

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