Today on this last day of April it’s cold and snowy. It makes me think of what I have been told about the day of my birth, cold and snowy. But that was in the city of St. Louis in February. As is often the case, this is not the poem I thought I was writing. It began with the recollection but soon took itself in another direction. I like this process of discovery, following words where they want to go. I always find what was just waiting to be found.

​
​it began deep in the heart of winter
in the city
 
but in the city
many streets crisscross,
there are so many people, so much noise,
it’s easy to get lost and
never find your way back home again
 
some people forget till
gradually home fades from their memory
and streets, people and noise
crisscross from today into the past and the future
and being lost is the familiar way
 
but if you listen, some primal voice or
re-member-ance tugs at you,
urges you to face the cold and hunger of winter
to find the hidden foot-path
that leads someplace vague, yet, comforting
 
the foot-path from the city
becomes the road across open countryside,
into the mountains and beyond to the sea,
long byways of spring and summer
farms and orchards, ever greening
 
stars outnumber people,
the wild is faithful to its native voice
and your thoughts can sort themselves out
from the crisscross
 
the city, the winter where it all began,
when you were so young and unknowing,
gave you roots and sustenance
till you were ready
to find your way back home again.

 
© 30 april 2019 phyllis boernke

 Years ago when I was a young woman
in the prime of my life,
I dreamed a sacred dream of all my ancestors
connected to me by a golden cord
generation upon generation
to the beginning of time
connected to one another by the golden cord.
 
There was a hush all around us
the color of pearls
warmed by thousands of celestial voices
softly humming,
‘This is Eternal Life!’
 
Now I am an old woman
weighing the meanings of all things
I see again all my ancestors
bearing the gift of the golden cord
to me and into the future beyond me
to my children and their children and their children
yet unborn.
 
The hush still fills the sacred space around us,
the colors melt into the voices as before
proclaiming in reverent whispers,
‘This is Eternal Life!’    

 
+ © 2019 phyllis boernke +

​it’s april but winter still
reaches her long icy fingers
across the calendar
into drafty corners of my rooms
and deep inside to my bones.
 
when will she loose her grip,
allow the ground to thaw
and wakening buds to end
their hibernation
and triumphantly
greet the warming sun?
 
all creatures share
in their longing for spring
to bring forth her glory once again,
for gentle rains to whisper promises
of new life arriving with each dawn,
for rivers to fill the days with songs of joy,
and trees to sway in response.
 
all of life pauses, holding its breath,
waiting as winter completes her work
of granting snow covers and
            rest for the ending of things;
            food for beginnings of things;
            patience for each of us
in the between of things.
 
 
© 10 april 2019
phyllis boernke