The women gather at the riverbank
Musician, hunter, poet, mother.
Far from the withering gaze of the preacher
They bare their breasts to the sun.
Sacred herbs for the midwife—
Sweetgrass and yarrow, sage, and cedar.
They gather and gaze
At the image of their mothers
In the mirror of the river.
In the mirror of the river.
Like snails in an aquarium
loosened from their shells,
loosened from their shells,
In the reel of the river
They bare their breasts to the sun.
They bare their breasts to the sun.
Bird’s plaintive cry o’erpurple nestling on the walkFlees in silent flight.
May is a time of transience, and Frank Tassone, Monday’s host at dVerse, asked us to face the inevitable passing of it all with a Haibun, a literary form that blends prose and haiku.
