Buddha’s Boots

The Guardian was tasked to carry the cosmic egg to the temple of light. There, a serpent would be born, who would breathe fire into the universe. Steadily, she walked in Buddha’s boots, one to the east, and one to the west. But she tripped on a thought, and dropped the egg on hard nothingness. The white Yang ran out and became the sky. The yellow Yin oozed forth and became earth. A world was born, but a universe would never be. Thank God there’s still a chicken.

(Photo by Gina Kelly)

Trini’s Wall

She built this wall long ago against hateful invaders,

their names now scribble-scratched on worn warm wood.

Plywood grains swirl in flat echoes, sounding for signs

from invisible worlds on the other side.

She hears whispers, and the door begins to open.

(Photo by Gina Kelly)

Simon’s Doll

Mother. From egg, I exit.
Like egg, smooth walls hold me,
in my warm water world.
Walls that grow closer every day
in comfortable darkness.
Songs touch me from beyond
in gentle, loving waves.
I turn and listen to your voice,
Mother, leading me to light.

(Photo by Gina Kelly)

Superior

When there are no more prayers left,

Look for a boat floating in the sea.

I will hear your heart and come to you.

The sky, the water, the stone is gray.

I land at the pier, you step on board

And place your last thoughts in me.

(Photo by Gina Kelly)

Photophobia

The pain is not from light

But what it illuminates -

The love of darkness

In your dim corners

That haven’t smelled day

Since you were a child.

Someone opens a window,

Disturbs your sleep, and

Like a thief, steals your fear.

This bright ray removes muck

From forgotten channels,

Erases cracks from mirrors,

And releases buried veins

Of temptation, gods, and sin.

Some burn and fall, others

Soar homewards into void

Away from the fear of light.

(Photo by Gina Kelly)

Longwillow

She often dreams with her eyes open to the west
looking for writing in the sky when the sun sets
and catches the Pacific wind in her outstretched arms
to mold into familiar colors, shapes and tones,
gifts to crying lovers’ spirits left to us in symbols
she sends across our land to the hungriest of souls.

(Photo by Gina Kelly)

Trini

Had Manet found you,
clothed in marble shadows
beneath the grove’s oak,
as I did that summer day,
he would have known each stroke
before it touched the canvas. 

(Photo by Gina Kelly)

Marie

You, suspended between peace and passion,
Tethered to hard world by soft hand,
Have always been a stranger to weight.
If I let go, would you sail to another world,
Or drift in and out with the tide?

(Photo by Gina Kelly)

Falling

A falling leaf, I grew from the same tree
as many other leaves. They fall, too.
I spent the summer collecting light
and dancing in the wind. Now, my stem
weakens, my skin flushes, waiting
for the final gust. When it comes,
my descent seems like many years,
floating on a sea of cool air.
I know it will be a soft landing. 

(Photo by Gina Kelly)

Rest Stop

There is a thin line between panic and euphoria,
Marked, as it is, on mental roadmaps
Like the Minnesota-Iowa border.
One side looks and feels like the other,
But they are somehow different states.
There is, of course, more to a thing than its limits,
More than printed symbols behind glass,
Giving names to lines and points on a journey.
Both are unfamiliar notions, tales
Of strange places brought back by shaken travelers
Who tread their stony fields, and remember
Waking to storms of fear and beauty, swearing
Never to leave the quiet land again.

(Photo by Britt Fleming)