[Thespiritexpress] Poem read at Mastery

[roz at mcn.org]

> So beautiful Riantee! Your words paint such a complex and layered
picture. You are gifted

Love, Roz




This is one of the poems from my French village I will read on the 28th.
> Also new poems
>
>
> RIANTEE
>
> May 28, 2021 @ 11:00 am - 12:00 pm
>
> Zoomuse presents Lydia Riantee Rand
>
> Link to Zoom event: https://zoom.us/j/99414930537
> <https://zoom.us/j/99414930537>
> Organizer: SICA, Subud International Cultural Association
> email: www.community at subud-sica.org <http://www.community@subud-sica.org/>
> website: https://www.sica-subud.org/zoomuse
> <https://www.sica-subud.org/zoomuse>
> The Embroiderer
>
> The house hides in the back of the garden.
>
> No voice comes from it.
>
> The village has moved to the fields.
>
> Dishes are quiet, not a cork is popping;
>
> it is the hot hour.
>
> The sun beats the flagstones to distortion
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> as they surrender their inscrutable density
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> rising in hieroglyphic waves.
>
>
>
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> Nothing is awake to excite the barking of chained dogs
>
> lying in the dust behind the barn,
>
> nothing to entice the prostrated hens from out of the shade and into the
> farmyard.
>
> The curtains are drawn, shutters closed, nothing indicates whether the
> house is lived in,
>
> except the suspicion of a shape sitting dark inside at the threshold of
> light.
>
>
>
> Look closer, it's a woman. She embroiders.
>
> On the table next to her a vase holds one white lily.
>
> She stirs the cool shade of the house
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> into Summer's immensity
>
> like a frail vessel on a troubled ocean,
>
> sewing truth with little stitches, big stitches.
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> She embroiders, this expert stitcher of life,
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> weaving complicated filigrees into the daily routine,
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> linking each thing to the next.
>
>
>
> Safe inside, her lover swims in the sleep of oblivion.
>
> She says nothing, insists on being quiet about a thing
>
> that is only revealed when man's hustle and bustle is appeased.
>
> He is the loud mouth, the story, the noise,
>
> he has the bright feathers,
>
> but she is the vessel on which he can explore the big water,
>
> the bridge allowing him to cross safely to the other side
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> and come back.
>
> A stitch at a time she secures their union to each other
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> and to the earth.
>
>
>
> Sitting in a house at the edge of light a woman embroiders.
>
> She has no use for idle gossip, political games, boastful displays.
>
> Her house hides in the back of the garden,
>
> no sound comes from it.
>
> It has only known solitude and intimacy.
>
>
>
> This house is ours when we are ready.
>
>
>
>
>
>
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