Lorna the Librarian

Dancing Home

The gate ajar,

The front stairs dust with heat and tiles,

I two-stepped over this masonry pile,

To an open front door.

Holding my tiny boy’s hand,

Off-loading six hefty bags,

I yelled, “anybody here?”

I heard whispers, faint laughter,

Silly old masters, dear

Ever present circle

Subterrane of my soul.

Gloria.

Twenty-two twirls throughout years,

My babe is man.

With a broom I sweep and bow,

To jigs and reels.

I drag out trunks, crack them open.

Out bursts a pack of hopes and fears,

Unleashed and dogging my heels.

When I depart will this bulwark disappear?

Will its ribs rise up?

Tibia and femur?

It has happened before,

Gloria.

I take my oath and on it I persevere.

The mysteries,

My heart, sweet warrior sparrow

We flutter airborne.

This old lady laughs.

Hallelujah.

Across Atlantic’s shimmer

We waltz to a gate ajar

Over the Alleghenies

Under the Drinking Gourd

Over and Under

Under and Over

This great tapestry

We the weave

The strathspey, the swing

The glimmers, the gold dust, and the night stars. 

An Understanding at Easter

I heard the fireworks last night. You see Easter here is like the 4th of July but run by hooligans. Tonight is the night! The young thugs will run around town and find any burnable objects they can drag up and make huge bonfires on vacant lots, throw old tires on them and burn away to whoops and hollers. It’s totally illegal you see, but all in the name of Jesus and his rise, particularly on this coming night above clouds of stinking black smoke. The fireworks will be ad nauseam after midnight and the Easter Mass! The police will ring their hands and look away as they aways do here. People will rant and rave about it on Tuesday after they are back from the holiday and at work. The children will be off for another week and will have to run around and set off any firecrackers they may have missed during this spring mayhem. It is older than Jesus, that is to be sure. One thing I have come to understand about the religion, they follow festivals that predate the current one. So our ancestors must have made huge bonfires as spring arrived. Maybe they were burning the old mess of winter and making way for better weather and the planning for and planting of a fall harvest. What they burned was a sacrifice and a hope for better times. That is what I have to remember tonight: these youth do not burn for naught.