Menda's Page

Winter

Winter was my favorite season.
Trees trade color for line and shape.
Like corkscrews
their branches dance
and I, child, joined the old in play.

At sixteen winter was still mine.
Sweetheart steamed my window pane.
Shivering, frosty and half-naked,
warm beneath my books I laid.

* * * *

soft white flowers i pick,
bearing memories of Hades ship,
persephone, blue-green sea, soft west winds.

snatched, from mother, she was
dragged beneath the deep dark under,
the maiden-raped daughter,
circulated umber, under fruitless skies.

soft white flowers i pick.
blossoming snow in summer heat.
wafting moans with music flows
"wash me and i shall be whiter than snow...
...whiter than snow ...
whiter than snow...." singing picking daughters,
waters flow like melted snow....

* * * *


color, scent of mother...
jasmine blooms in spring
a forgotten dream awakens me...

Can a tree tango by itself?
Like me and hand
dancing in the summer of my green.
Hips swing warm 'ginst barren line,
fingers press the heart of spring.

A wrinkled promegrant-apple,
sits upon my table,
sharing space with an aged fruit basket,
atop an elaborate weave.
Evening news reports the weather....April showers, flash thunderstorms,
Strong canary winds.