Where the Ancestors Abide
She’s done it again.
Painted a place I want to walk into.
I think she is a land-Siren.
It is not a landscape or fruit,
but what beckons me
a blue crèche
radiating from deep inside a cave,
a geode with its own light source.
Shadowy figures inside
rise into and out of each other.
How does a canvas
become a fourth dimension,
a forming and unforming,
movement and whispered secrets?
If only I could cross the threshold,
put on hiking boots,
scuttle down the slot canyon
into her glowing world
or hitch a submersible ride
to their bioluminescent village.
Might I find them miles below the dig,
their clay pots, tools, and lost medicine
the only clues as to who they were?
Dream figures in cloaks,
pierce the veil.
Perhaps this is the space before birth and after death.
If I go, will I become moonstruck and lose myself?
Poem written by Maureen Sandra Kane published in “Mycelium~Poetry of Connection" published by Gray Matter Press ISBN 979-8986241524
I appreciate this gift Maureen has given me. By writing this poem, she answered a question I regularly have: How do viewers interpret what they see in my art. In addition, it stands by itself as a good poem of connection. My gratitude, Maureen.
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