the rose and the pearl

the instructions were:

you will be given a heart --
inside that heart is a rose --
within that rose
lies a pearl

visible only

with your
blossoming....

•

for this to happen,
you must plant your feet firmly
into rich earth....

open your arms
to the caressing sun....

breathe deeply
when the winds race to meet you....

bathe daily
in the warm salty water
of your own tears and sweat....

•

in this way
will you grow enough

and grow
strong enough

to
unfurl....

to discover the pearl
that is only yours
yet not
for you....


__________________
© 2011
Beth Anne Boardman

the golden web

when i was born,
i was given a cloak --
a cape --
knit of radiant feathers
and woven with cords of strongest silk....

at night
my mother wrapped me in this cape
like a blanket --
like the wing of an angel,
she said....

mornings, she folded it carefully away --
a secret protection....

as i grew
i told no one about
my special
feathered cape....

when i threw it around my shoulders,
i filled with clandestine joy....

on days when the
wind rode over the hills like wild horses,
i slipped out with my cape --
and ran to meet it....

running across the grassy fields,
the cape rippled and snapped
from my shoulders,
and i'm pretty sure --
on some level --
i flew....

climbing onto the lap of the earth --
warm round boulders
became the platform
for childish imagination....

but as life loomed and stretched
its looping fingers
around my throat....

and in the hustle
and rush
of saving and being saved --

i left it behind....

•••

the day i felt my daughter
prepare to make her appearance
on this earth,
i remembered that cape....

i imagined those mornings
and afternoons
enveloped in feathered radiance
laughing and leaping
from rocks too big....

and when i held her in my arms,
i saw that tucked in
with her blankets
lay a glowing cape
of her very own....

i wrapped her in it
that first night....

and thought no more of
my own....

•••

until one day she came to me
enrobed
all by herself --
resplendent....
dazzling....

piercing me with a glory of grief....

at that moment
i began the hunt --
to assemble the materials
to reknit my own....

and i did....

after many
many
years....

•••

i have it still....

i have danced with it
and traveled with it....

wrapped myself and
my loves in it....

i have been
to my mother's grave in it....

modeled it for my daughter
to remind her of hers
when she forgets....

and though i want desperately
to keep it --
to feel its soft airy feathers framing
my face and
throat forever....

i see that feather after feather
floats away
from grasping hands....

so i give it up....

the beauty and softness
the graceful blush of it
flow in a slow ebb
to the ones who come behind me....

i show them,
the little ones....
the young ones....
the ones who want to know....
how to weave the feathers
into their capes....

but i am not left empty-armed....

because though once i wept
at the loss of my pretty cape,
after all the hard work of
knitting it again....

i find that the silken cords
underneath
remain....

and those that do not wish
to know,
do not see --

that by moonlight and starlight
i glisten --

and dance

wrapped
in a golden web....

________________
© 2011
Beth Anne Boardman

another six months....

it's been shown to me that i must wait....
i must wait longer than i can even imagine waiting....

i am learning a new vocabulary of waiting....

i have been told that time is completely meaningless in the other world....
they dance and sing while we wait....
they forget what it's like to be human --
to feel the bindings of gravity....
the churnings of the hours and minutes....

by the time they finish their favorite song,
and take a breath,
and turn around,
six months have gone by, and
we are lying on the bottom of the valley of the shadow of death again....
to their great surprise....

just when our last ragged breath shatters our aching lungs,
they laugh and flow back in through golden threads....
scooping us up in their light, loving arms....
reassuring us of the simultaneity of perfection and imperfection....

while we writhe and moan, they hum and knit....

and another six months go by....

it's nice to know that there is dancing and singing in the other world,
while we flail around here with our plans and our will....

until we understand the grace of loving....
we can fight and fall down all we want....

the dancing and singing do not stop
just because we're caught in the webs of desire....

some days i skip down this sticky web, pausing, balancing,
massaging a sore toe, then skipping on....

equipoise.... for a while....

other days i find that sore toe has caught somewhere and
the more i struggle to extract myself,
the more intractably i am wrapped....

trapped, a fat fly in a gossamer coffin....

release comes when i cease those frantic efforts and become still....
dehydrated and red-faced, waiting....

silence descends....

and far too late, but absolutely on time,
angels come tripping in....

and another six months has gone by....

closer and closer to whatever's next,
i am learning to dance and sing....
to laugh,
to love radically,
and without explanation or excuse....

it's easier to do all this waiting
while in love with everyone....

anguishing....
languishing....
embracing....

another six months....

and once in a while,
in the silence....

laughter --

like golden bells through summer windows....

_________________
© 2011
Beth Anne Boardman