Sandra Noel ----- five poems

Stone and Bone

I want to become a stone

in this meandering river

large enough

to hold my place through spring floods

small enough

for a returning salmon to consider

nose me gently before struggling

a little further upstream

where she will dig into lighter gravel

a nest for her bright orange eggs

attracting the blood-colored males

already on their way to death

until both together, open-mouthed

mix eggs and seed.

And after she covers each nest

no longer able to resist

the relentless downstream current

as it carries her spent body gently

back over hard won riffled river bottom

to be the last place she rests

stone and bone together

bleached white and worn

with weather, water and time

inanimate, un-noticed, dreaming.

One molten, born in a river of fire

cooled to stillness by a river of ice.

The other, a silver sea traveler

until natal desire compels her

into sinuous red light.

(First published, Elohi Gadugi Journal, Narratives for a New World, Volume 1, 2012-2013)

Winter song 

There was a song

whistled by the thrush

learned early

and passed on to me

as I stopped by the cattail cloister

thick matted with dead stalks and leaves

of this long, dry summer.

It is the last refuge in the pond.

Golden maple and willow leaves

cover the ground leaving skeletal branches

and no place to hide but deep in the muck

if you happen to have gills

or the cattails, if you don't

but fear the heron's sharp eye

or the hawk's overhead.

The song must be of winter

the coming cold and damp

the end of abundance

and time to fly south

if you happen to have wings

or hunker down, if you don't.

Hold a Stone

Feel the smooth dense weight

in the palm of your hand

listen to the stillness--

It was once a river of sand

It was once molten lava

hardened by time or temperature

made smooth by waves and tide

into this small shape of a human heart.

Listen to the stillness--

the tic tock of our hearts, our time

is not there.

If stone has a beat

it is timed to the rhythm of the earth

in sync with the universe

and music of the stars.

Hold a leaf.

(First published, chapbook intitled, "Into the Green", 2017 by Finishing Line Press)

Heron

Prehistoric vocalizations

in the giant fir next to my window

stuttering, shape shifting, lifting

silently soaring across the mirror-black bay

a perfect crescent moon

light on the horizon

first rose, now golden

as I sit on my cushion

with altar and bowl

the first of many habits

acquired with age

to replace the passions

of my youth–only you remain

I still wake up loving you

knowing you are impossible

(knowing you are impossible!)

I sit and wait for peace to descend

for hope to expire

or rest in a tree nearby

knowing (somehow)

I will never wake to an empty heart

but stagger with the weight of you

each morning

then soar silently into the light.

(First published, chapbook intitled, "The Gypsy in my kitchen", 2015 by Finishing Line Press)

The bells

One day you came

into my life

but left on a Sunday

I know it was Sunday

because there were bells

pealing and pealing

as if to announce

your departure

you may have said goodbye

but the bells were so loud

it was all I heard

the bells saying

goodbye, goodbye

Whenever I hear them

it is what I remember

a Sunday

you leaving

the bells.