Arts+Culture

Arts+Culture

We Are the Eighth Day, © Melanie Weidner

Poetry

The oceans feel the pulling of the moon

The oceans feel the pulling of the moon.
The whole earth feels it. Why then cannot I?
I am too fragile, small to face that doom.
The oceans live millennia; I die.
The oceans churn me under in their power.
Their force is mighty, and their mass is more.
The moon climbs high and falls, led by the hour.
If time is known, location then is sure.
But what predicts where we may be and when,
When even we don’t know? Command the sky
To turn, but what’s the will that orders men?
The heavens say it’s either God or “I.”
At waning gibbous, just a bit past full,
I see the moon, but cannot feel its pull.
Poetry

Washed

     For Carl Trovall

His fingers kiss the crown of my distress,
my tresses gently lingering in his hold
while frankincense makes dizzy unto death.
Newly blanched, the black ewe joins the fold

and what is sin of me is gone, released.
Oh wetly, I am held to this. Delight,
shines the cruciform pose of the priest.
There’s Jesus in his hands. The water’s white.



Poetry

The sailing

My mother lifts her blue-veined
   hand, “I’m ready to go.”
       She stares into the white wall,

which billows into a sail.
   Little boat of bones.
       In dream she is carried

by a swift river, wearing
   a red dress. Clear water,
       and I on the bank.

But she doesn’t see me.
   She has become one with motion.
       Even in water she is fire.





Film

Unsentimental journey

Seventeen-year-old Maria is a pretty Colombian girl frustrated with life in her small town. She has a monotonous job at a rose plantation; family responsibilities that eat up her paycheck; and a boyfriend who is content drinking with the guys and working as a mechanic.
Poetry

Sorrow stalks me in an old coat

the color of churned water.
I have worn it for years—
it no longer fits, tugs at the waist
where I have grown under cover,
spreading like roots, like grief,
swelling in rows of deep rhizomes
long after sowing. How often
can a heart break? When
might I be rid of this old coat?