Last updated:
June 1, 2020
Lori M. Cameron, editor
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In the Soft Blossom of Silence – Jason Ranek

Motherhood is a kind of darkness, a reaching
past the limits of the self to touch
life pulsing on the surface of a dream.
There are death-echoes in this. What happens next

will cloud the very light her body drinks:
the child awakens to himself without
memory or shame, with nothing but a need
that chews relentless at the root of the heart.

Time blinks. The child is a man sounding
a darkness of his own, stammering for meanings,
reaching for a flaming stone with which he will light
a dark and hidden place, an alcove in the grotto

of breath, deep in the soft blossom of silence.
And if he returns with nothing but a heap
of words, experience corrupted by the ambiguities
of language, she will forgive him. He was lost in a dream.

She will take a letter from his tangle of alphabets
and hang it as a prism above the threshold of her sleep.
Awakening at dawn, she will rise to see the white
light breaking in myriad colors of being.


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