Sunday, May 15, 2016

The Blue Iris




















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

But, what if it is the blue iris?
What if that is all we need to speak
to God, or the gods, or some other
form of the sacred?

I try to pay attention. I piece words together.
This is prayer, yes. But, more so, it is ceremony.
I want to hear another voice. I want a reply.
I want to know that I’m not alone and that
all of this matters.

May I put it in a vase?  May I decorate my home
with it? It is beautiful.

Could I be worthy of something
that I love?



© 2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary"
To be published by Talking Waters Press in 2016

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Sunday, May 8, 2016

My Mother Was




















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser


My mother was the purple iris,
sometimes a peony, but never
the carnation. My mother was
red lipstick and a big, bright smile
that sometimes lied about how
much she loved her life. She counted
her burdens and could recite them
with ease, but she said that you
could make things better with a bag
of peanut M&Ms. Green ones, especially.
You don’t forget, not all of it.

But when you bury someone
in a blue ceramic jar
near the old boxwoods
and walk away,
things start to become
hard to remember.

I don’t know the meaning of life.
But, maybe, it is simply to take notice.



© 2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary"
To be published by Talking Waters Press in 2016

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Saturday, April 30, 2016

The Flowers




















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

We only lived in that house for a year
and I was only six, but I remember
things. Like, Mom planted a row of
flowers along the walkway to the
front door. They were red and
yellow and orange and shaped like
rooster combs. “Cock’s combs,” a
neighbor said. They fascinated me,
how a flower could look like part
of a chicken. I watched them for
endless minutes, like I expected
something to happen and didn’t
dare miss it. I knew something of
magic then. Perhaps, I simply
expected they’d become chickens,
scratching about the yard for seed
and small insects. But, maybe it
was something even more
miraculous than that. Maybe, it
was some bigger knowing that had
possession over me. I’d put some
in a pot on the stoop of my first
house. For no particular reason, I
thought. And, there would come  
the day when I’d be standing in the
Amazon and meet a field full of the
ancestors of Mom’s flowers, as tall
as me, and I’d feel an odd sense
of family and want to tell someone
about it, but there was no one to tell.
Then, a day would arrive when I’d
have my very own chickens and
while watching them strut, cluck,
and scratch, I’d remember being
a little girl watching flowers, and
realize that I was still watching them.

We shouldn’t underestimate children.
They become something else.



© 2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Plant Songs" (a work in progress)

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Saturday, April 23, 2016

What We Want From A Flower
















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

Tell me nothing,
and I won’t believe
you. Within you
there is longing,
something

that you want from
a flower, maybe it
isn’t a fancy thing,
but I’ll bet it is
profound. Life

changing, maybe.
Have you thought
about this? I hadn’t
until today. I’m

thinking about
it now, how I want,
no, expect, flowers
to make things
better. They do. Isn’t  

this interesting? I wonder
what a flower wants,
no, expects, from
me.



© 2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary"
To be published by Talking Waters Press in 2016

Feel free to share

Saturday, April 16, 2016

The Way A Flower Opens
















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

Have you ever been kissed the way
a flower opens? Those with short lives
must know something of pleasure,
mustn’t they? And beauty, whether
it be their own or they just choose
to find it everywhere. I think that
flowers must kiss bees, and butterflies,
and, yes, the heavenly air as much as
they dare. I won’t say an unkind thing
about that.



© 2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary"
To be published by Talking Waters Press in 2016

Feel free to share


Saturday, April 9, 2016

Standing There




















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser


I happened to be standing there.
Initially, it didn’t seem like a particularly
special moment or a special place, although
there is something special about everything
and everyone, it’s just that some people
keep what is most special secret. I know.
But, there I was, making one of those
silent prayers that you make in the woods
because it’s your cathedral and there it came,
wide wings low across the trail and whoosh
to the toe of my boot, big, dark saucer-eyes
looking up, straight into mine, locked for an
eternity-second. There was blood on the
tip of its beak. Interesting, I thought. Without
words, it said, “I claim you.” And, that was that.
Some prayer was answered. I’m not sure
which one. Maybe, it was all of them.



© 2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary"
To be published by Talking Waters Press in 2016

Feel free to share

Sunday, March 20, 2016

Spring
















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

Every year
when it comes,
I ask myself:
“What am I emerging from?”
 “What am I emerging into?”

Sooner or later we must leave
the darkness. Ready or not
the brisk air of early spring
wants bodies to hold on to.

So, I think on the others coming forth.
The bear and her cubs that have been
hidden among the rock walls
above my cabin.

The frogs and salamanders that
were below ground,
breathing through their skin.

The flowers, a sacred pattern
of cells laid out on an invisible
blueprint of celebration.
And I have a question:

how too do I take myself into this world?
I think about how it seems
so effortless to them.
There they are where they
weren’t before.

But poets like to find things,
like an idea,
like a meaning,
something that causes stirring,
because a world that always
sleeps cannot awaken.

So, this is it, I think:
some words on a page,
some questions arising among
them.

Here I am saying,
“It is spring!”

And asking you to notice
that something wants
to emerge,

and must.



© 2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary"
To be published by Talking Waters Press in 2016

Feel free to share