Poem 72 (Pandemic Day 74)

What the Ancient Ones Knew

Petroglyphs in the rock:

a woman balancing a world

in each outstretched hand.

The worlds spin in place.

She stares across

the valley at winter peaks

floating in clouds. A small 

smile lightens her face.

Her feet ground the earth.

Her head grazes the sky,

To her right side coyote tosses

the moon off the end of his nose

and barks at the close of night.

As the hot sun dries her face

the woman moves her left hand 

forward and offers me a world.

"Here," she says, "let it spin.

It will weave its own fabric."

--Gayle Lauradunn

Mother Earth: Through the Eyes of Women Photographers and Writers, Edited by Judith Boice, Random House, 1992.

I'm going to let this beautiful poem written by New Mexico poet, Gayle Lauradunn stand on its own.  You can click on the poet's name for a link to an interview with her that gives you insight into her process and her amazing personal story.

I am blown away by this bewitching book of photography and poetry in which her poem appears; still available and worth the $8.99 sticker price.  It is so special that tomorrow I will share two more poems from the book.

I seldom want to admit it or even consider the thought, but it is just possible that I own too many books.  Last week I packed up 75 books in three large boxes and mailed them off to a company that buys books.  Some of the bookshelves may have given a small sigh of relief for more breathing room, but I have to face it--there is not a noticeable decline in the number of books available to read.

Current calculations are that I need to read 100 books a year for the next 30 years without acquiring one additional new book or visiting a library to come even close to empty shelves.
It is sad to think that there are undoubtedly books on my shelves that I will not ever get to and some, such as Mother Earth  that deserve to be lingered over and loved that may not be touched.  I am grateful that this sheltering time has allowed me to linger with some books longer and also make decisions to send some books on their way to be treasured and enjoyed by others.  I can reduce my wardrobe, part with dishes and linens more easily than I can with my books--that's just the way it is--simplicity in all its forms is something I may never achieve--so I'll just love the chaos.  And, as much as possible, heed the words of Winston Churchill:

"If you cannot read all your books...fondle them---peer into them, let them fall open where they will, read from the first sentence that arrests the eye, set them back on the shelves with your own hands, arrange them on your own plan so that you at least know where they are. Let them be your friends; let them, at any rate, be your acquaintances."