GrandSeeds
I see my Grandfather
He is saying what I can’t hear
I lay down to feel the movement of the air
Remember my body
I find myself
How I have been in other dreams.
I go inside
For the large faded box from before.
I pry off the lid,
There are the seeds, of
the rain and wind and sun,
they contain the miracles of secrets
Shadows, they shine, they are still, they Are
Each seed has its purpose and place.
Everything depends on This
This is my birthright,
This is my work
I am not alone in the garden
All is very still,
All is full
A woman is running past me
She is moving across my memory,
She is trapped in the motion of
the end
There are tears dropping into my lap,
They came from me
I won’t see her now
But she is me, I am her
I am her wound
This will take whole nations to heal
and
Tell Us the Story
Close your eyes
listen
This forest is wailing
This forest is howling
The birds are singing choruses
in the different languages only they know.
The sun is bursting, shining over head
I step up and my foot lands
on the soft grasses, soft,
shhhhhhh, shhhhh, shhhhhh,
In the Field,
I see my grandmother
She is folding the land into tidy lines.
She is bent under the long shadows left by the sun.
The skin of her face and hands are dry and brown,
they are soft, like sandstone,
they have been shaped by the winds
The dust and the air are moving around her
The centre of creation
She lets out her
native tongue, escaping
You are seperate
She turns into the black-brown landscape
under the setting gold-orange sun.
There is a breeze, the smell of spring roses
Life continues, the surface is normal, I feel the closeness around me.
In the ever moving shadows and sunshine
I move between fear, delight, reverie, wakingness,
elation, mourning
The spirits of the land, or the land itself
whisper stories directly into me
without any words.
I thought it was going to be quiet in the dappled sunlight along the forest floor
I wish I could honour them or name each name
no memory attached
little sparks in time
they are gone
My footsteps are not mine alone, each place they touch has its own story, I am being carried by a collective past and
all the prayers of the universe.