I am a cello
alone in my beauty
inhabiting curves
like mountains inhabit
the space all around
so bright, luminous
and longing for hands
and legs all around
and the touch of fingers
on my strings tuned just so
like winds on the faces
of those shining ramparts
of stone, ice and lichen
that fall to the earth
in splashes of granite
and music like lava
slowed down by indifference
but still singing loudly
under the rainbow
across those tuned strings
and across my heart
for I am a cello
Your words were thicker than
The Black Forest
and thicker than blood
(by a long chalk)
you treated blood like water,
no, like stone, like brick
made without straw
(your house took all that)
and there, around that house
so flimsy a hufflepuffer could
poofty it away with ballooned cheeks
(and a sharp swift exhalation, just one)
you built with words a fortress
with walls thick and battlements
that do not gleam in sunsets
(like moonlight dancing with the sun on many-waters)
but brood and loom grey and flat
absorbing light and cutting off
every avenue.
I’m so glad I found you
(or did you find me)
here in the ups and the downs
The stairs are the same
the doors lead the same
in heat, in the dust and the brown
you carry those weights
responsibilities
like water jugs, like tambourines
but still find your way
to find where I am
and give me your heart, your heart clean
It is not only men who are in this class…some women too. Some children too…
There are very few honors greater than to be allowed to witness a woman’s full truth, full radiance, full depth. Any man who gets caught in the easy shallows and then bails not only misses a taste of the infinite … but remains incomplete – having missed out on an opportunity to reclaim a piece of his own soul.— Randall Alfred
Charissa's Grace Notes 
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