Tags
a girl named death, bridge to nowhere, crossing over, death personified, home as metaphor, long hair, pearl diver, sonnet, storm soothsayer
Muzzy, a rope support bridge. Rain blurring
in this hinterland mist. A thing air born,
apart. Tonight I am leaving. Leaving
for its other side. This is a well-worn
path; still, I’m lost. Muzzy, up by the rocks
on the east side of the harbor I asked
a pearl diver the way. Her long dreadlocks,
hanging down, gave her a death-head, face masked.
I have been following rain all day long.
A storm soothsayer. Rain led me out here.
Led me to a bridge I crossed over once,
mother. When Death picked me up in her strong
arms I knew a once nameless fear. A fear
named by seeing home off in the distance.
memories of my ghost sista 
Women seem to be the conductors of life, in so many art works intended to personify and ritualize death…to give a face – fearsome or inviting – the the ultimate discovery.
Thaks again…
Later…
“A fear
named by seeing home off in the distance.”
Got scared reading this. Really, this part of human existence has been on my mind lately and the more I think about it, the more reclusive it gets.
Regards,
Returning to a world that doesn’t want me, or a world that only will accept me in a certain way, takes more courage than I normally can muster. When I lived in Armenia with Peace Corps one neighbor asked me if I was being punished by being sent so far away from home. He wasn’t being flippant, he just couldn’t imagine a situation where anyone would volunteer to live away from his or her family. I found that way of thinking interesting since to me and many people I know it was only until I made my own home elsewhere that the feeling of being accepted finally set in. There are those homes we come from and those homes we make and sadly not all the time are they the same. Thank you for your thoughts. They mean a lot. Cheers!