The Opening \ Elephant

Nancy:  Remnants of ice flows (blocks sometimes several feet thick) may still be there in April, buried in the greening marsh grass.

The Opening

The ice is barely breaking free

on the bay, floes stacking themselves

on ledges at low tide, volumes

of winter piled haphazardly, as children

might have left them, untidied

and abandoned,

as I say, this has just happened

but already my mind has chosen

to superimpose the flash of light, of

open water on the marsh, on the

bay, the gabble of oldsquaws in the dark,

sorting out, pairing up,

yes, already I am leaping (as I did

once from ice to ice across the flood tide)

leaping to the first pea tendril

the heavy green massy tomato plants

starred with flowers, a chair

in the shade,

perfume of hay and nicotiana,

all this because it is coming

because piece by piece

the ice is tumbling free, floating

free and the sharp cold air is rich

with open marsh and mud.

Alan:  Akshobhya, the Buddha of the East, whose emblem is the elephant...  I’d like to thank Margaret Brooks and family for the story that seeded this poem.

Elephant

                      om vajra akshobhya hum

Ponderous, plantigrade,

the elephant sways and shuffles

in the dawn processional:

polished, gold-tipped, inevitable

amid the crowds and chanting.

Just in front, a small child

walks, proud and singular;

then trips, sprawling, arms

delicate as lily stems

flung out, helpless.

The beast, unable

to change stride,

cups an immense foot

and touches the earth

in two places, bridging

her fragile bones,

walks on, imperturbable.

She springs up, laughing

and crying, the tiny glass

bangle flashing on her wrist,

a mirror of blue water,

a circle unmarred.