J. M. R. Harrison lives in West Virginia. While she has a doctorate from the University of Virginia in an unrelated field, she now pursues her lifelong interest in poetry at the Writer’s Center in Bethesda, MD. Her poems have been published in Antietam Review, Penwood Review, The Sow’s Ear, and the anthology Wild Sweet Notes II: More Great Poetry From West Virginia.
Fall 2009
Table of Contents - Vol. V, No. 3
J. M. R. Harrison
With all eternity to ponder
the nature and cost of freedom,
even an angel might prefer
the rasp of sand between the toes
to the ethereal tug of cosmic tides,
choose the angularity of starfish
over the symmetry of stars,
desire---whatever the penalty---
the lash of wind-driven rain
on a back unburdened of wings.
To The Heart In Its Dark Cavern
Take down the dulcimer.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.--Rumi
A time comes in any mourning to strip away
the black and throw open the windows.
Remembrance lingers, a scent like lilacs,
a delicate cameo on a dark velvet ribbon.
But stubborn, so stubborn, the heart protests:
it has been embalmed with the beloved dead.
Timid, swathed in layered black crepe,
what else is it to think? Love might persist
like water, but cleansing takes time.
Gradual changes: carry the morning cup
of tea into the garden, pick three wildflowers.
Observe the subtle truths of trees
and the evocative quiet of stones.
For now, song contentedly reposes
in an unopened drawer with the good silver.
Later, take down the dulcimer, blow off the dust.
Go slowly. Know the malarial, wrenching fevers
will recur. Polish the instrument, replace strings,
tune. Be patient, and more than patient,
until that day when silence begs for music
and the fingers ache to pluck the strings.
© J. M. R. Harrison
