Thor, the Norse God of Thunder, had a hammer named Mjölnir. Mjölnir was considered a fierce weapon that could level mountains and summon lightning with every blow. In this poetry blog, every Thursday, (Thor’s Day), Mjölnir will forge only song - sing of the mysteries and beauties of the world.

Thursday, May 2, 2013



THE VISIT

When a little piece of Joy
falls from the sky
and lands at your feet
broken and stunned,
what is there to do
but put it on a napkin
next to the name ‘wichcraft,
move it from sunlight to shade,
shade back to sunlight,
searching at knowing
what it might need,
untwist its twisted wing
with the corner of a cloth,
try to feed it sugar water
from a gigantic silver spoon,
fawn over it
in the smallest
and clumsiest of ways
with your big lives
in an attempt to save it.

But you can’t.
There’s nothing you two can do.
There’s only the waiting
and the watching,
and the wind
that bullies this wisp of a body
into nearly toppling
head over tail 
over itself, until
finally it rears itself up
for one last rally,
shakes off the stupor,
blinks its eyes into diamonds,
holds its head high,
and with regal stature restored,
is now a presence
full and beating
like a little green heart
upon the pavement:
a burst of wishful flapping
that lasts but a moment
and then stops.

With all fight and flight gone
from its dream-body,
Joy rolls to one side,
no longer touchable
to the wind.
Relaxes, rests.
And its racing breath -
steadies
softens
ceases.                              

We see this happen
inches from our eyes.
This tiny death
is just an exhale away.

What do you do when
the smallest bit of iridescence
bleeds its rainbow out
before your feet
and you are helpless
to save it?

You wonder:
How is this visit not news
about my own precious life
and how I could live it
differently.




                                  


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