Eyes locked upon her
not in love
but incredulity
and in belief
that I can see and talk with her
so far in time and distant from
my experience
eyes so young and wise.
Her brothers’ eyes I understand
Both deep still pools,
The elder ,greedy after glory,
but pridefree and rockstrong
Ardent, yellow eyed and ruthless,
With all the compassion
of mischief’s patron saint.
His eyes are clearly traps,
But what of hers ?
And of what of mine,
Into which she also stares.
Is this some ghastly deep woods
prank ?
The innocent must die to save the
world ?
In which case, which of us is
innocent,
I, of her world and time
And she, of adult acts ?
She speaks direct and fast,
Shockingly indicates how much she
knows,
Farm girl brought up among the
studs and rams,
Ok, I am now the innocent,
Her talk of prize studs and of
gelding,
But this, god help me, was to put
me at my ease.
If any witch there was
With evil spells and ingrained
knot hard hatred
Envenomed to the point
Where her spittle could split our
world,
And suck out its warm damp joys,
And leave behind ash grey sand
This girl is her antithesis,
Of that I have no doubt
Is she not an Eve ? growls
Earnest, gently
And what do you know now,
stranger,
that you knew not before ?
This from Ardent, calm, but
inside ablaze.
Will she marry ?, I stumble out,
Aye, if she wishes, but not to
you.
They laugh as friends, but she
looks on.
If she is an Eve, and yet knows
all
Then sex was there in Eden.
Now it has become that knife edge
along which we walk,
Between conscious joy and
depravity,
Its not the act itself but how we
play ?
I feel sure in this but hesitate.
Talking to my own creations
But on their terms and on their
turf
Is not as easy as it seems.
Shall she bring us all to
Paradise ?
I blurt out, alarmed,
Will men not fight to death for
this ?.
Earnest smiles and says
Some days honey, and some days
rain.
My sister talks to Wolf
When Ardent sleeps
And Wolf seems to like the cub.
Wolf is my brother too,
Says Quaker child,
And wherefore should I not
Speak and love and listen ?
Ardent-Wolf, as one,
Licks her face in amity
And this strange gesture
Seems normal and refined.
What happens, Sir
She addresses me direct
When I become a woman ?
I ask you because you see our
world
And tread lightly upon the
sacred.
And will I lose my touch with
Wolf
Will the doorway to your world be
closed
Will I lose my innocence
and lose my joy and good sense ?
Were she my daughter I would
smile
And say these are women’s things.
I can tell you what the changes
are
But your mum can tell you how it
feels,
But she is not my girl,
She is imagination manifest,
Wild and innocent
Well dressed for all weathers,
And with such eyes…
Her eyes are hazel, as from dark
woods
With amber centre, most strange
of jewels
With blue slate outer ring,
A rock to roof us in, protect.
So choices are easier
Or hardest of all..her future is
my whim.
So, give her life as mortal girl
With husband, children
A regal pen-pal from the icy
wastes
As light relief ? Easy for
Christmas with the kids.
Or let her grow up
With her strength of innocence
But ally that to sexuality
And can we not have a new Eve ?
Instinctive knowledge of wild things,
Chickens, ducks, foxes, men,
The best way to ask for help,
The sense to see into all our
hearts
But the decency not it use it
against us,
Unless we err,
With leadership at one shoulder,
Wolf and ice queen at the other,
And sensuality without guilt ?
What this world needs is not
another mother
But a second Eve
With sensuality as a key,
What man would fight another man,
If we could love without fear or
guilt ?
So story book is closed again
And the kitchen fades
But like a Cheshire Cat
Their smiles are still with me
And the possibility of a new
trinity
Romantic-wolf, High reason
And sweet quaker girl
Who knows no guilt in love
Burns away the last floods
And the sweetest sunshine
As ere did poet conjure
Shines, by her permssion
In our valley.
Sometimes faith is found
In our imaginations.
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