space before memory
charlotte rotterdam
dPress 2007 Sebastopol
36 pp handsewn
Photography by Jampa Dorje
space before memory
the page chooses its ink
retreats from the weight of borrowed words
(i want to) tell a new story
which part of memory do we choose
before words sink
(i want to) live in the pages
between
if matter is neither created nor destroyed the
world is a thrift store of borrowed stories
and we
dealers selling them as new
(i want to) wake each morning
in the space
between leaves
(i want to) meet myself
a stranger
like a cat fresh out of water
this day
marched right on through me
and now i feel
an empty tunnel
with only a bit of soot
to show
i do not believe them
the promisers of tomorrow
there were times before today
when i laid myself to rest
with thoughts
of what might be
this is just
this is just another day
how glorious
to remember the color of a rose
i thought of you the other night
if only because the darkness smelled
of wild mint and sage
how soon the mind returns to memory
where does it begin
this endless search for the night
that has already escaped us
bicycles wait at every street corner
to take us just beyond the bend
these are stories about waiting
but it has always already been too long
i forgot who it was i thought might meet me
when i finally turned
where do we begin to reassemble
what was never broken
in the first place
a thought
coalesces
dangles from silver strings
drops
soundlessly
into this night
portal
i
at an angle
late afternoon sun spilling into a dusty room
i see you
prince
riches pouring over
2000 faces
reflected in all the mirrors of my life
ii
and there where blood meets bone i sing with you
my heart aches
knowing
your ribs
the bend of your wrist
i chant your body
iii
we meet
the edge
unfold
like golden onions
we peel away our skins
iv
warriors
we shall not tire of singing prayers
v
i would dance with you forever
but we are called
and we shall walk
my love
together
into this battleground
this paradise
of life
snippets to my own passing
in the end is my beginning
the pink crab apple blossoms fall
together we will travel
into the cool promise of yesterday's rain
in the beginning is my end
and this morning the flying insect
was cleaning its tiny head
one antenna curled with each stroke
they say it is the little things that count
if this is it
then indeed it is grand
the audaciousness of red
would be enough for a lifetime to remember
and you and you and you
i ask only that you never pass a blooming flower
without a kiss
rock my bones into the sand
i know they will be dancing till late into the night
waiting for the sun to rise
into the cool promise of yesterday's rain
together we will travel
the pink crab apple blossoms
in the end is my beginning
today
one blooming agave
would have been enough
skeleton rising to an African sky
presenting yellow pillows
offerings to the sun
i would sit on their perch
and watch the clouds
roll in
and the lightning
bolt into the distant hills
one blooming agave
would have been enough
but there was more beauty than a day
can hold
tonight
the stars hold the ceiling of my room
on silver strings
and they will rock me to sleep
amid the dreams we dream
coral holds up the moon
inspired by a Chinese koan translated by John Tarrant Roshi
for papa
each drop
falls
kisses
the earth
branch of the twisted
pear tree
inhales
tickles
the wet underbelly
of leaves
of whom do the rocks dream
when there is no rain
coral reaches her white hands
into the whispers
of waves
stories of sand
and the way sky
holds the melody of blue
there is no time
as beautiful as this
the moment
before dew rises
up
into the womb of clouds
the mind opens
flows a hot river
into the sea
moon sings
of the rise and fall
we have been waiting so long for silence
one rain drop falling
since the world points up beauty
inspired by a phrase in the Tao Te Ching
for mama
since snow fell in the night
earth is wrapped in crystal
morning sun collects a thousand tiny mirrors
strewn across my garden
could there be more glorious a day than this?
the long white arms
of steaming tea
weave winter air
world folds back her sheets
not yet certain of weight
the hazy fields and skeleton trees
rise like dreams beyond the giant pine
we have come to believe too much in the hardness of edges
points and lines
and angles of floors
even now
rays of light
caress the frozen trellis
ground begins to lift into the sky
up above the fingertips of cottonwoods
mountains dance with clouds
beauty spins her silver symphony
she has been singing to us all along
singing of the curve of things
of how the willow bends to better kiss the wind
of how we are called you and me
into the arms of day reaching through the window pane
tableau
there was a time before nonessential goods
when you were the blue of my painting
monkeys and diamonds
and the way we formed a common market
skimming the edge of what could be
red frills to safeguard history
we were free of foreign
borrowed our own patents
and framed the whole
picture in green
just because
where have you gone
i have never heard of Tanganyika
only
they have eliminated trade
and now like late rains
i am squeezed into the
narrow black border of your graph
it has been years since exports and imports
there are thin lines around our colors
white is not available
they say
but i will not forget you
you have etched your name onto my canvas
feast
yellow papaya flesh
drips
its sweetness
into the blue glaze of a Japanese bowl
softened wood spreads its grain
under the caress of setting sun
(Courtesan reclining before her lover)
even
the broken flower pot
embraces its heart of blackened earth
It is all too much.
i could spend eternity relishing the angle of a window frame!
barely enough time
to snatch
one
word
of this exotic language
we call the world
it would be enough
to understand the greyness of a rock
rooted bone
i have always loved
graveyards
lush bleakness
where growth is said to end
*
violet
hidden
among remains of decay
stone
markers
bespun
with
blooming
hydrangea
rose
shares its deepest red
with eyes that do not blink
*
bones live
longer
than muscle
unbroken
by bookends of
birth
and
death
unseen
stick
figures
that never felt
the warmth
of sun
now
bedded
in fertile moistness
holding
memory's
breath
between
roots of
weeping
willow
prayer
let us begin
there
where mind becomes mountain
nestled in the valley's hollow belly
we sleep
until a ray of rising sun
strokes the soft grey rock of our cheeks
day pierces the seam of lids
eyes open
and we behold ourselves
stretched along gleaming peaks
bodies carved into cracks of canyon walls
let us dip the fingers of our branches into lake's clear mirror
dance in cathedrals of ancient bristle cone pine
conspire with the raven
carve the wind on wings of black
move soundlessly with the mountain's lion
our paws cushions of strength
each step a prayer
and when cliffs become houses
and moss becomes road
we run along gutters of crooked sidewalks
curl up in potholes of crowded streets
climb onto the torn sleeve of a child's red coat
and whisper sweet honey into his growing bones
night unfurls its silence
we slip into the company of stars
glide between galaxies' shadows
and rest
where the rock bed
drowned in the spotlight of a rising moon
dreams its rock dreams
there
where mind becomes mountain
let us begin
taste of loss
no metaphors
body
the only voice poetry
woven
in sweat
ache of ribs
where roses
whispered
verse
days
ago
there are times
when speech
is muscle
no need
for metaphors when broken
things break
we are thrown
back
reawaken
to the thickness
of our own blood
ubiquitous cricket
that time you always think of
when it is not
and now that it is
it slips through your fingers
like a silver fish
days so long
i forget this morning
wonder how this story began
i run
as though the road beneath my feet
were quicksand
i take refuge in the speed
of mountains
and turtles
the quickest way between two points
is silence
away and toward and from and into
spinning around ourselves
i would sit for a while
and listen
to the ubiquitous cricket and the sprinkler
remember the way the night sounds
before it swallows me
sinking into my pillow
meditations
inspired by the teachings of Kilung Jigme Rinpoche on Longchenpa's Way of Abiding
between
and through
and straight into the heart
like rain seeping into cool earth
truth drips
words spin
repeating
weaving a silver web that holds nothing
and still enough to let the sun
hang crystals on its translucent thread
frozen dew clinging effortlessly to dried grass
glinting
promising everything
and nothing simultaneously
already always
and yet beyond grasp
the magical display of this and that
dances
like so many angels fluttering their wings
blues
such rain today
washing dried tears
muddied dreams
into the streets
where rivers
gather into lakes
if grief were drained away
would the world be sweeter
would we gather around this last puddle of sorrows
and offer our final farewell
with rose petals
floating among falling rain?
still
even as we danced through the garden of bliss
would we not smell the bitter sweetness of forgotten loss
remember the softness with which
the petals kissed
the water's lips
wishing well
i cannot say where sadness is born
where the spring that gushes tears is hidden
i walk through the day
basking in sun and spring sweetness
only to stumble
time
and
time
again
upon this fountain of broken mirrors
refracting the light of dreams
undreamed
shards crack beneath my step
chip from the delicate lips of a wilted rose
if my eyes could scream
my throat could cry
i might undo the brickwork of this well
scrape clean its brown moss
fill myself with new rain
emerge a warmer animal
and find my spot again
in the sun
home
i found myself
searching in a thicket of brambles
thorns tear
seam by seam
each step
erasing
retreat
each grasp
an undoing
i sew myself with scissors
bare
i step into the open field
vastness
always
known
only now remembered
(how could i forget
the way the land arches its back
falls away into the curve of rising sun)
always
here
continuously dissolving
all ways
speak of this
only now we see beyond the brambles
cactus
because you do not expose
your inner sanctums
for anything less than blood
because you hold your juice
secret oasis
not like other flowers
that drip their sex into the sand
your armor of thorns
beckons
a treasure revealed
if only by the height of its fortress
you are
desire
in the dry heat of desert
sometimes
when i am drawn to you
i inch my finger
through your spiked sentinels
to stroke your side
chiseled angles
insurance for shadows
and then i love you
because you do not give your softness easily
you are a lover i shall never wrap my thighs around
and still
you let me in
my own risk
sometimes
when i try too quickly
i come away with invisible memories
only against the sun i see
the shadow
the slender sword
that is your parting kiss
for p
i will not dream you any longer
yet there is no end to my dream of you
you have walked out of the shadow of imagination
to meet me where my skin begins
i will not remember you
yet there can be no end to my memory of you
you have stepped from the archives of thought
into the cool wind of this day
why is it
dancing around you these eternities
i never truly know you
yet i have known you always
why
my eyes have been watching your path through the ages
yet the slant of your cheek
surprises me each morning
why
i have loved you so many nights
yet i await your kiss
like a fawn's first suckle of milk
may i have the courage to walk from the stage
to meet you
over and over and over
again
not because i know the way
not because i see
only because i love and i dare and i would live this one life
with you
borrowed time
this day feels put together hastily
—AUDRE LOURDE
it's because of the wind
even the colors of dawn were swept together
like crumbs and vegetable scraps from a dirty kitchen floor
it's because the sun rose before the day was ready
harried
it gathered its fields and roads
its slumbering mountains
extracted from sleep grass that needed to dream a little longer
it's because skin takes time to grow
and we cannot rush the touch of bark
it's because cities need the night to fold their broken hopes into
need dark rain to wash the blood of forgetfulness from curbs
this day feels put together hastily
and sadness can find no comfort in the peaceful rays of late afternoon
even now
i see it wandering among lost streets
trying to find its way home
and then again
again today i see them
shooting forth as though for the first time
tender pink
most delicate
most fragile
first
into the war-torn field of dead grasses and old roots
not the weathered artillery
not the hardened soldier
not thorn or bark or steely spine
instead she sends her youngest out
i am ambushed by lilac
thwarted by the shadow of green
no chance against this
desire for life
and this i know
is why i came
entranced by the hyacinth
humbled to my knees
by the white cherry blossom
this i know is why i came
for the breath of a strawberry
for the birdsong this morning in the grey skeleton tree
for the sound of a yellow tulip petal
for this i will be felled
for this i will surrender
again today
brown robes and hot sun on shaven heads
inspired by Thich Nhat Hanh's monks
there is only ever time enough
to do one thing
well
the moment expands
one step
in front
of the other
stand still for speech
listening
within the walk of mindfulness
brown robes
and hot sun on shaven heads
food
waits
there is time
for everything
willing
to exhale
i stop
for a lilac
no hurry
only
a sequence
from one to one to one
do not try
to pack all your belongings into one suitcase
you only need
what is right
now
glimpse
i cannot even touch you
for fear the world will crumble
loose red earth
the rain has never kissed
no mind
stay
savor the elixir
of molten honey
i sink my body into
until thought and falling rock
are still
and
there
is
only
this