You are here
(by Jean A. Jones & John M. Marshall)
Sage:
Where the great green canyon
dives down to foaming frothing water
as a child Bonita brimmed
with silver satin sunlight.
Where the vapor of snow
buries the earth six-feet-under,
as a child Bonita waited
in silence, for distant thunder.
The Angel:
You have found us. You are here,
having discovered the nature of life's dark chocolate,
I have met you to the place where we all gather,
the harvest ground, the cool damp earth-
This is the place where we come from,
where gods and heroes are born,
where we cling to each to protect ourselves. . .
I am the guardian, I am the guide;
and I, the wolf of the river,
will lead you to places unknown by you….
Take my hand and eyes be open. . .
Minstrel:
Bonita, child, find your mother,
beneath the suns, around the moons,
seek fast and do not falter,
before the winds freeze the other.
Sage:
but she waivered and she wafted,
in autumn berries above the falls;
as clouds flew near
screams from the hills disrobed the air.
The Angel:
My beautiful child, it is early, your time is not yet.
What are you afraid of, darling? Is it my whiteness?
I can touch you, darling,
but you cannot touch me,.
I am a part of death;
one reach towards me, and you must come with me forever. . .
I am here to gather what is mine.
The Lord who created you promised me
from the day of dust
I am the one\who takes you home.
What is it child? You are not afraid of me?
One day I will come for you,
and you and I will be one.
Sage:
As she ran the wind ran with her,
throwing leaves upon her face,
limbs and branches
following her race; as eyes,
meant to spy her mother’s fair form,
dropped - a limp and twisted body.
A lioness made a mockery of reason:
a mother, taken by creature not by season.”
The Angel:
You wish to know what happens next?
Close your eyes.
I will take you forward
to what you desire
yet fear to go,
I am the one who leads you to the place where all roads meet.
I am the one who comes and takes you home.
Open your eyes. Look around. It is time to go.
Minstrel:
Bonita, child, find your mother,
beneath the suns, around the moons,
seek fast and do not falter
before the winds freeze the other.
Copyright © 2011 Jean A. Jones & John M. Marshall
