(a poem for Christina-Taylor Green, who
was born on September 11, 2001 and who
died at age nine, shot to death ...)

Child of 9-11, beloved,
I bring this lily, lay it down
here at your feet, and eiderdown,
and all soft things, for your gentle spirit.
I bring this psalm — I hope you hear it.

Much love I bring — I lay it down
here by your form, which is not you,
but what you left this shell-shocked world
to help us learn what we must do
to save another child like you.

Child of 9-11, I know
you are not here, but watch, afar
from distant stars, where angels rue
the evil things some mortals do.
I also watch; I also rue.

And so I make this pledge and vow:
though I may weep, I will not rest
nor will my pen fail heaven's test
till guns and wars and hate are banned
from every shore, from every land.

Child of 9-11, I grieve
your tender life, cut short ... bereaved,
what can I do, but pledge my life
to saving lives like yours? Belief
in your sweet worth has led me here ...

I give my all: my pen, this tear,
this lily and this eiderdown,
and all soft things my heart can bear;
I bring them to your final bier,
and leave them with my promise, here.

*

Published by The Flea, The Lyric, Copia Posterous, Elizabeth’s Ramblings, Legacy.com and Fullosia Press

Keywords/Tags: Child, beloved, lily, eiderdown, psalm, shooting, gun, violence, massacres, 9-11, evil, NRA, guns, war, wars, hate, hatred

A cat jumps around in the moonlight,
Scared a little sparrow.
A peony flower opens,
her white dress blushed.
A swarm of bees came and went,
Flowers were being embroidered.
A frog is playing the music,
A white lily danced with joy.
A princess on the lake smiled,
Lotus around like knights.
Gently lying in the arms of the water,
Splash! a group of goldfish jumped out.
It's a beautiful paradise.
The moon drew a priceless picture.

She is born of earth.
But the other rejects its own nature.

Her body Is a muse.
But the other has no breath of its own
To inspire.

She opens up
To the rays of the morning.
But the rising of the sun
Does not excite the latter.

She dances
With the whispers of the wind.
But stiff and stifled  
The other is not tickled.

But what of the soft perfume
That lends charm
To even the most common daisies?

What little charm the other has
Are fabricated
By the hands of man

This other
In the struggle
For a life not its own
Is perverted into paralysis
And paralyzed in pretense

She is The Lily of The Valley.
But you are a plastic flower.

How is it that
after all of this
I still find myself dreaming
that you would come back?

Perhaps if I looked
like your tamed beauty
you would have stayed
here with me.

Hiraeth creeps up on you
once more
and lulls you to sleep
with tears in your eyes.

And in your dreams
you are once again
in the land you loved
so dearly.

And you see me,
the ingénue who
you loved
more than anything

The faeries sing
their melodic tintinnabulation.
This inexplicable moment
has gifted the mute with voices

The rain has ended.
The storm has passed.
And the world is new,
coated with petrichor.

And I wonder
if you’ll join me,
and I wonder if you also think
that you and I are sempiternal.

With you and me
here in the woods,
would you agree
to one last dance?

I would hold on tight
and refuse to let you go.
I won’t ever let
that happen again.

But then you would inevitably wake
with that dainty beauty beside you,
with wrinkles on your fingers,
and with a wringing in your heart.

And when morning comes
you will arise from your tear-stained bed
and remind yourself
that you can never come back.

Do you regret leaving me?

But I would die happily
if I were able
to live that ineffable moment
with you.

In my sacred place I spy you
How dare you flaunt like you do?
I watch you grow from seeds I've sown
Your curves superior to my own

Your *** is plain to see
Drawing the humble honeybee
in with your succulence
watching as you dance,

freely with the wind and rain
I stand by like a hideous bane
Jealous of something I'll never be
Fertile, purple, strong and free

Dare I pluck you here and now?
Keep your splendors to me somehow?
Put you in a vase and imprison thee
Flaunt your beauty only to me

when they told me:
Guard your spirit
i laughed, frilly manner
listless with decision
a water lily bobbing;
eager to cut my anchor and drift
Sinking
Sinking
drifting into deep

depth swallows my yellow.

as the May
sun sets over our
reign.
We breathe and savor
the flowers of the lily, wishing
they rise again, after the
late solstice of gloom comes and goes:

Sweet Lily, we shall meet again.
after the floods and the thaw, I shall be reborn.
but for now, my season has passed,
and the arid droughts of summer
must test the roots I have grown
in so short and beautiful a time