poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

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Thursday, January 29, 2009

Raga

I was a river and everything growing around me was wild and dangerous.
Naked women swam with sea-girls there,
adventurous navigators picked my flowers for crowns.
Then I was crowned and buried alive
and I became a music, from the earth, steady
and loud, in competition with all the other musics.

You offered me a towel
and wiped dirt off my old face, you
took me in a canoe out on the ocean, to a small island
where we were the only people. We saw a baby
deer there and named him. I told you I was the deer also.
You said, there is nothing wrong with you.

I was a voluptuous island, heady and sure,
I thought I was making noises
no one else could make or hear.
But you caught the song, like a ball, one hand up in the air.
You waved. You asked if you could come in.

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