PRUSSIAN BLUE SHADOWS OF EROSION
~a rustic mother’s tale~
Whenever you hear talk of this it is true:
Prussian blue
Of a leaping rooster’s daily rounds,
and
Prussian blue fig leaves worked like
simple truths into a mat,
and
Prussian blue lights
when they cup
a lightning inflorescence
of a newborn’s head,
shadow a rustic mother’s
view of her son’s days to come
bound in generational tragedy;
— - Resignation takes away the gift of
learning to expect the unexpected — -
And the hand of God
moves about the rooster’s leaping
Prussian blue fate lines
time after time and
(contrary to our notions,)
Ours that are no different
within these broken cups
our hands
that will be outlived by hushed
Prussian blue fig leaves
transfixed in a floor covering’s gaze
recording Prussian blue
shadows of erosion
(So much of it to go around!)
within a mother’s dwindling
sight that no longer
sees Prussian blue on a leaping rooster,
only expected frayed flight
of scratched dust.
She knows every day food
tastes the same costs more
fills less, fuels fewer urges. Was it
such a long time ago that Prussian blue
glimmers sat like polished coals
between her breasts when lightning
shivered outside and filled her
newly-wed eyes like a flock of swallows
under a sharp moon?
No matter — he is gone
and how he longed to be a man!
She said, tomorrow
I will drag the rug
with Prussian blue fig leaves
into the sun
keep an eye on the rooster
that seems to leap about
too far away while
across the horizon, ravens’ wings
drive Prussian blue lights
from one field
to another to drop in
pain-filled waters of a
wishing well abandoned
by childhood’s acquaintance
a long time ago.
Farida Haque
Reposted with artwork
