Chime

Judith Cordary

Description

Chime records one woman’s moments of vision over about a year.

Sujets

• Poet
• Tubular bell
• Poetry
• Chimes
• Vision

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse
• Date de parution: 02 décembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781665576024
• Langue: English

Extrait

Chime
 
 
 
 
JUDITH CORDARY
 
 
 

 
AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: [phone]
 
 
 
 
© 2022 Judith Cordary. All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
Published by AuthorHouse  11/23/2022
 
ISBN: 978-1-6655-7603-1 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6655-7602-4 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022921207
 
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Contents
Chime
A Leaf, a Hand
Sweetwater Lace
Cairbre House
At Crane’s
Fanad Head
The Darwins
One Flea, Ten Ticks, One Hornet
Halloween
Dark’s Light
A Permanence of Moon
Catchment
If I Say Blue
Was Blessed
The Things She Carried
Lean
Heron’s Rest
Lily
Three Little Girls
Swallowtale
Near March
One Day
Recipe
The Drystone Walls
Sonata
Wool
Gargoyle
A Kitchen Mat
Hands
Still
The Clock Ticks
Spiral
Alec’s Red
Bracelet
Into the Sun
Chime
It’s ours, to choose our chime,
or wait, for wind,
and strength to breathe.
 
It’s ours, to clear ourselves
for succulence, choose
the lushness offered up—
 
gelato’s avalanche of sweet,
the roar of chocolate on the tongue,
astonishment of cassoulet,
 
the crunch of Brussels sprouts,
and on and on. We chime
for love, for others,
 
poor, less cosseted, who starve
for water, craving rain, for green,
for twisty Irish lanes,
 
for roses, iris purple-black,
for worms to till and tunnel. Chime,
at last, to open wide,
 
to live, for now,
our punctuated lives: full stop,
elisions, yet, our windows wide, alight.
A Leaf, a Hand
In each true thing,
there lives
another.
 
Can you watch
a thunderhead---
its seething white,
 
its bulging edges crisp, defined,
and not think: peony!
petals fresh as dawn?
 
Or the wind
turn grass to hot green flame,
its fiery flow uphill,
its alto meadow sway?
 
And birds, their alphabet,
their M’s, their W’s, the fatal V
they make above their prey?
 
The rose is never
just a rose: a heart
that lifts its dazzling face.
 
A leaf, a hand,
the way the rain, the way its blue
obliterates the mountains,
is the blue inside a flame.
Sweetwater Lace
--for Mildred
Not far from home,
Sweetwater Lace wove miracles:
white stars and roses, birds of paradise.
 
You got the leftovers,
sewed and sewed
for four young sisters---
skirts and blouses, dainty mitts
(since it was Tennessee).
 
No boy got lace, of course
(and there were five of them),
but you, you flirt, you little honeypot
who drew the boys from far away as Chattanooga,
you caught the man you wanted.