Tuesday, June 30, 1992

DREAM VESSELS # 30 Cabbage Harvest salvaged DRAFT


DREAM VESSELS # 30   Cabbage Harvest   DRAFT
     —From a collage by Marsha Connell
From the sky, a tea bowl gathers in lightning
I thought of black chickens
hovering over the city at night.
Something in the art of tea
electrifying the air.
While in a New England town in fall
the tribeswomen watch the spectacle of the dark sky
gathering greens for their dinner
the streets are quiet
the burlap sack tumescent
the tea bowl circles the city on black wings
and the women reach down to pluck the green and gold from the trees
to nourish the celestial tribe and the overprivleged one
perhaps this is where the manna from heaven originates from
the color of fall trees
you can hear the tea bowl folding its wings
as it settles for the night
the annular division of labor between night and day equal
no matter where we measure it from
the poles, the equator.
Itís just the way in which itís dished out
that affects where we live, what we eat
it all boils down to the weather
the horse latitudes, the temperate zone
where the trees live
the most densely populated place on earth

Summer 1992
DREAM VESSELS —from collages by Marsha Connell

 
DREAM VESSELS #37: Mountain Fire Shepherd   FIRST DRAFT
     —From a collage by Marsha Connell
The shepherdess comes out of the burned land and the tent.
The shelter is not a yurt, but a mountain. Perhaps Tibet.
Where to find tent poles if there’s a shortage of wood?
Tied to the door frame, an amulet, laurel leaves and feathers protect her
No one sees her in all her coral finery
On this continent  or Hawaii she would wear a feather cloak
Four rams hold up a chalice to the sky to collect rain
Have the forests been felled by a volcano, or worse?
homeless birds watch us.
the bluebird will not come again, this silent spring
The orb above the tent is not a moon;
inexorable oil barrels rise in place of the harvest moon
toward the carbon past, a march we can’t stop
The fire from the oil wells in the middle east
will be felt in the remotness of Tibet
The fire will darken her life too
though Tibet is a closed country 
Our presence is felt here too
When I was little my grandmother gave me a bluebird necklace 
This elaborate vessel. our culture does not invest in such elaborate art
a chalice, for us to own it is a sacrilege
we don’t have the investment of feeling for the power of anything natural
this very humble woman’s at peace with it so it’s more natural to her

Summer 1992
DREAM VESSELS —from collages by Marsha Connell

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