Raven Snow

[prelude for the left-hand]

I lost one wing and one wing only

torn from the skies in a raven snow.

how could I go back to find it all alone

who could not find the space between the letters

though they were made of gold.

I lost more than this: the sun

the keening of a larger wind caught claw-like   

in a cramped style and then let go to fend or not at all.

how bright the berries from low lying shrubs appeared

on that dim holiday

inedible as tears.

begin to fall from the high angelic distances you loved

the ancient mockers call, harp stinging

as the white bees fly, finding the wounds they were meant to find and

live in for a season.

my words you have broken in two for no Godly reason

and sewn them into a frozen stone

so that they will not fly from here

mary angela douglas 3-4 november 2012

Note on the poem: this poem appears to be dark.  look again and you will find an escape clause in it so to speak.I always have light and hope in my poem built in.  the key in this poem among others is "for a season"

I also want to mention another inspiration for this poem was a pianist who started transcribing music for the left hand only when he lost the use of the right.  Incidentally I typed, composed and felt this poem with my left hand only (and right hand index finger) as my right hand has swollen up.  Not important just a foot note or a hand note.  And there is a famous poet perhaps in translation who once wrote of a blizzard as a swarming of white bees though I can't remember his name.  What an image straight from the Snow Queen's Palace.  In my poem the white bees are not necessarily bees as they are so ineffectual as to have to find previous wounds to lodge in rather than being able to sting on their own.  It is all about appearances.

It appears flight, music, life are no lomger possible.  And yet, they are. This is both my experience and my holy faith. (in God.  in Christ)