I'm looking at flowering trees this month, and laughing, speechless,
at their lavish generosity. I'm going back through old files,
resurrecting forgotten poems, and feeling them blossom again in my
body.
Here’s a poem I wrote on Mount Kilimanjaro 2 years ago; a reflection on clouds and mountains, from 15,000 feet above sea level, a snapshot for my lover on the other side of the globe.
May the power of the living world continue to make us all larger in the weeks to come.
In community,
Shailja
NAISSANCE
Kilimanjaro Day 4. Kibo Hut, 7pm
Today I saw a mountain exhale cloud
the way a baobab exhales heat
in mid-afternoon savannah. I saw
cloud mist rise
from the face of Mawenzi, swirl
and settle, fatten, condense
to ponderous cumulus.
And I thought how you
would enter the mind of the cloud, hear
the conversations of particles, know
the intricate dances
of droplet and gas. Beloved, today
I saw a mountain give birth to a cloud
and the joy in my eyes was my eyes
seeing it for you.
Today clouds stood still as silence
below me. I looked down
at clouds
shading their own shadows
on the mountain. I saw
the canopy world half-way
between me and the plains. I watched
the birth and afternoon prime
of clouds, how they gave birth
to shadow, how shadow
lay on mountain, how
the mountain
spoke the clouds.
