Beth Camp's Blog, page 82
October 22, 2012
October 22: At random
I feel nearly
invisible
In my own
skin
as we rush
to complete
Photo of L. M. Montgomery, taken at random,a woman traveler
our list before
we leave.
Snow is
expected Sunday,
but we pack for
Africa,
a trip
almost at random,
the first in
nearly two years,
our
suitcases half-full,
What do I
take?
What do I
let go?
Three weeks,
impossibly short
for
travelling, yet
too long to
invisible
In my own
skin
as we rush
to complete
Photo of L. M. Montgomery, taken at random,a woman traveler
our list before
we leave.
Snow is
expected Sunday,
but we pack for
Africa,
a trip
almost at random,
the first in
nearly two years,
our
suitcases half-full,
What do I
take?
What do I
let go?
Three weeks,
impossibly short
for
travelling, yet
too long to
October 21, 2012
October 21: Woman Weaver
Huipil pronounced whee-peel
Young girl weaving huipil, Antigua, Guatemala (2001)
Since the beginning,
I have seen my
mother
weave huipil.
She would set
me
to sorting colorful threads
while I watched
mountains and
birds take shape
under her fingers.
The women weavers,
chattering softly
in Spanish,
worked around us,
all leaning on the leather belt
of the
backstrap loom.
Young girl weaving huipil, Antigua, Guatemala (2001)
Since the beginning,
I have seen my
mother
weave huipil.
She would set
me
to sorting colorful threads
while I watched
mountains and
birds take shape
under her fingers.
The women weavers,
chattering softly
in Spanish,
worked around us,
all leaning on the leather belt
of the
backstrap loom.
October 20, 2012
October 20: Song to the Saguaro Cactus
(pronounced sah-wha-ro)
We
hike in
Sabino
Canyon to
see
the great,
green Saguaro standing as guards,
in the
thousands along the valleys in this
canyon, each
one
unique,
grave,
silent,
still.
The Tohono
O’Odham call these persons,
and so they
are, arrayed in arroyos
as
sentinels,
their
slow-growing
spiny
arms
well pocked with
nests for cactus wrens or owls.
Ah, Saguaro,
you
We
hike in
Sabino
Canyon to
see
the great,
green Saguaro standing as guards,
in the
thousands along the valleys in this
canyon, each
one
unique,
grave,
silent,
still.
The Tohono
O’Odham call these persons,
and so they
are, arrayed in arroyos
as
sentinels,
their
slow-growing
spiny
arms
well pocked with
nests for cactus wrens or owls.
Ah, Saguaro,
you
October 19, 2012
October 19: A Griffin and a Sphinx
We were brothers
once in Egypt, you and I.
I left for Knossos,
that island in time,
Griffin fresco in the "Throne Room",
Palace of Knossos, Crete, Bronze Age (Wikipedia)
and you for Thebes.
Seduced by the
Greeks, you still have
our lion’s body
and wings, but now
you’re graced
with a woman’s face
and a serpent’s
tail.
I cannot answer
your riddle, but I know
you will not bite my
once in Egypt, you and I.
I left for Knossos,
that island in time,
Griffin fresco in the "Throne Room",
Palace of Knossos, Crete, Bronze Age (Wikipedia)
and you for Thebes.
Seduced by the
Greeks, you still have
our lion’s body
and wings, but now
you’re graced
with a woman’s face
and a serpent’s
tail.
I cannot answer
your riddle, but I know
you will not bite my
October 18, 2012
October 18: Time
Chuck Segars
said, “Calendars
are for
careful people, not passionate ones.”
I imagine
ripping a calendar apart,
tearing the
pages away to those moments
that cannot
be held by 24 hours
or measured
tick-tock:
When you
said, “Enough about
me, tell me
about you.”
When you
held our child
for the
first time and crooned
lullabye-and-good-night,
you, my
love, my center.
Yes, my life’s
said, “Calendars
are for
careful people, not passionate ones.”
I imagine
ripping a calendar apart,
tearing the
pages away to those moments
that cannot
be held by 24 hours
or measured
tick-tock:
When you
said, “Enough about
me, tell me
about you.”
When you
held our child
for the
first time and crooned
lullabye-and-good-night,
you, my
love, my center.
Yes, my life’s
October 17, 2012
October 17: San Miguel de Allende
Who could forget walking your cobblestoned
hills,
the surprise of history in carved wooden
doors
and dark, aged, stone Gothic churches,
the cacophony of market day,
the wonder of dancers at fiesta
with fireworks strapped on their backs,
spiraling stars through the crowd?
The flakes of pastry that clung to our
fingers,
the sweet smell of rosemary and marguerite
from our garden,
hills,
the surprise of history in carved wooden
doors
and dark, aged, stone Gothic churches,
the cacophony of market day,
the wonder of dancers at fiesta
with fireworks strapped on their backs,
spiraling stars through the crowd?
The flakes of pastry that clung to our
fingers,
the sweet smell of rosemary and marguerite
from our garden,
October 16, 2012
October 16: Happenstance
Just as the African violet unfolds
another deep purple flower, anonymous, unseen,
I am caught between my last breath
and the next, my past, constructed reality,
and the future, unknown, I build words across
the abyss, a world without meaning. At any moment
we face whimsy or tragedy:
Someone makes a left turn instead of a right turn
and another car plows into yours.
Happenstance it is
another deep purple flower, anonymous, unseen,
I am caught between my last breath
and the next, my past, constructed reality,
and the future, unknown, I build words across
the abyss, a world without meaning. At any moment
we face whimsy or tragedy:
Someone makes a left turn instead of a right turn
and another car plows into yours.
Happenstance it is
October 15, 2012
October 15: Rachel's violin
When I hear you play
I remember hours of practice.
When you were six, we couldn’t get you to eat.
You wrote crayon stories about the violin,
I think you slept with the violin.
Other parents would ask:
“How can you stand the missed notes;
they screech through the house?” But you
had perfect pitch. Your fingers knew what to do.
When you were eight, somehow we arranged
for you to
I remember hours of practice.
When you were six, we couldn’t get you to eat.
You wrote crayon stories about the violin,
I think you slept with the violin.
Other parents would ask:
“How can you stand the missed notes;
they screech through the house?” But you
had perfect pitch. Your fingers knew what to do.
When you were eight, somehow we arranged
for you to
October 14, 2012
October 14: Reflection
I could avoid looking in the mirror
or looking within, but not what I see
when I look at you, daughter of my heart,
from my flesh and from my bones.
I cherish this old photo taken in San Francisco,
just after I learned you were resting in my womb.
I remember longing for you, daughter,
the dream of night visions realized.
Today, you bless your own child with love,
one generation
or looking within, but not what I see
when I look at you, daughter of my heart,
from my flesh and from my bones.
I cherish this old photo taken in San Francisco,
just after I learned you were resting in my womb.
I remember longing for you, daughter,
the dream of night visions realized.
Today, you bless your own child with love,
one generation
October 13, 2012
October 13: Buddha Babe
The Buddha rests,
feet folded above the pink lotus,
its roots mired in mud.
His belly is full, his face reflects contentment,
his thoughts float far away,
yet I’d rather see him laugh, now,
his belly shake in sheer enjoyment.
I am surrounded by illusion.
The first winter winds sweep
yellow and red leaves up into a gray sky.
Two Canada geese honk their way south.
My
feet folded above the pink lotus,
its roots mired in mud.
His belly is full, his face reflects contentment,
his thoughts float far away,
yet I’d rather see him laugh, now,
his belly shake in sheer enjoyment.
I am surrounded by illusion.
The first winter winds sweep
yellow and red leaves up into a gray sky.
Two Canada geese honk their way south.
My
