When Lily plays the cello, it is holy.
Like lavender that strays from garden walls
and necklaces of evergreens that slowly
curl across the meadows, along the halls
her wreath of somber notes is softly borne.
She wings the bow; I hear my mother’s voice,
recall a lover’s crying flame. I mourn
and then, with silent chanting tongue, rejoice.
Each memory is coaxed aloud across
a grassy bottomland of time, the marrow
and the porous pith revealed. The loss,
half-opened flowers, flutters of a sparrow.
She plays the cello, slowly €”and the night
becomes an aperture of grace. All lowly
thoughts swirl into quiet, purple light.
When Lily plays the cello, it is holy.
_______________________________________________________________
For more of Karen’s poetry and her bio, go here, here, here, and here.
What a lovely, evocative poem. For any mother watching her daughter bloom. Thank you for sharing it.– Cara O’Sullivan, Provo, Utah
LikeLike
Hi Cara,
Thank you for the nice comments.
Karen
LikeLike
“the night becomes an aperture of grace” Gives me a wonderful visual of dusk. Thank you Karen.
LikeLike
I admire you for being able to write in a structured form that melts away as we’re drawn into the lulls and lavendars. Your poems lifts me up!j
LikeLike
Please nobody laugh at my typos. They weren’t there until I pushed the button–Really! Marsha
LikeLike
We won’t laugh, Marsha–it’s happened to all of us. I think it’s WordPress gremlins.
LikeLike