Dispatch from the Island
Two poems
In September I had the good fortune to travel to Epekwitk - Prince Edward Island on a pilgrimage of dreams. For three days I reveled in the landscape dear to Lucy Maud Montgomery, author of the Anne of Green Gables books (among others) that I have loved since childhood. Two poems are integrating the experience.
Come, Celebrate with Me
(after Lucille Clifton)
Come, celebrate with me
the vacant lot without
a name, only a tight emptiness
choked with remnants of weeds
and dreams, now
open, feral, wild bloom
of goldenrod and aster,
crisp husk of dying ferns,
and the ocean, O the ocean!
What enormity of tides ebb
and flow in the cove of my breast,
dreams swell, now
mark’d by this bridge between yearning
and fulfillment. How long will it last?
How long until the vacant lot returns?
Perhaps this moment with its
red sandstone cliffs, chant of waves,
embrace of Jackpine and Spruce, found
peel of Birch bark on the path, wide fields
emerald and gold in the slanting September twilight
is enough, now
come, celebrate with me
your own emptiness, the place
where weeds hold fast against erosion,
and you
step boldly onto the shores
of a dream.
Epekwitk
the original Mi’kmaq name for Prince Edward Island Nestled near the mainland in the four-seasoned north lies a jewel lying in the water, a land cradled by waves. Epekwitk. Such is her original name bestowed by people indigenous to the island who have cared for her for thousands of years. She is the place of dreams woven since childhood. She is the cause of my restlessness- but I do not know this until I exit the airport, greet the Spirit of the Island and, if I may be so bold, feel her welcome me back. Back from where? How long have I been gone? Jewels of light embellish potato fields at sunset. I sit at the base of a red sandstone cliff on the threshold of land and sea, hear words of my own poem echo in the chanting waves: Come, Come, Home. I am here. Wild wind churns the ocean beneath brooding clouds, skeletons of white spruce stand crooked and strong in an ecosystem protecting the storm battered coastline. What does it mean to belong to this place? What am I to do with this feeling of arrival when I cannot stay? I form a cove of memory to take with me when I’m gone: morning canticles of Bluebirds calling me to pray, the glistening harbor, the splendid shiver of birch leaves, sun gold September air fresh and crisp like apples. When the day of my leaving comes, I drive through the slow countryside and say goodbye to my new found home. And, if I may be so bold, hear her reply see you when you return. Back in the inland south a high blue sky radiates joy. I lie on my side, feel my body curve in the shape of the island. I inhale celebration of goldenrod and aster I exhale become sturdy cliffs that drop down to the sea, become a carefree brook wandering through a spruce grove. I sink deep into the weight of ancient land cradled by waves, a dream, a memory, a future, a jewel proclaiming her original name. *Excerpted from Hunger from the collection Elements of Being: A Spiritual Memoir in Verse
Creative Invitation
You are invited to take what Christine Valters Paintner calls a pilgrimage of memory. Think of a place you visited or that moved you in some way. If you are not a traveler, consider a space in your hometown or even your yard or neighborhood. Choose a line from the poems above, perhaps “Come, Celebrate with Me” or “if I may be so bold”, and free write about the experience. What do you want to celebrate? What insight did you glean? What boldness can you proclaim? Feel free to share your writing in the comments.
Prayer
This prayer is a blessing for senses. May you see a smile, a rock, the roll of clouds across a deep blue sky. May you hear birdsong, rustling of leaves, the laughter of a loved one. May you taste the sweetness of ripe fruit, drops of rain delicious on your tongue. May you feel the softness of a petal, the roughness of bark, the warmth of an embrace. May you smell honeysuckle and dried leaves, a favorite dish simmering on the stove. And, if your senses are not always keen, whether from birth, injury or a gradual fade, may your inner sight, your inner listening, your inner experience be rich and textured. However you move through this sensual world, may you savor the beauty of incarnation.
Poetry Reading!
I invite you to join me Friday, November 7th from 11am-12pm Eastern on Zoom for an hour of poems, stories, meditation, and conversation about my book Elements of Being: A Spiritual Memoir in Verse. This event is free and graciously hosted by Abbey of the Arts.
Such a beautiful gift, Melinda. Thank you! Also a nice memory refresher of our own trip to PEI and Nova Scotia 💖