Rising, Falling, Rising, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Rising, Falling, Rising

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

Watching the particles of dust

Falling in the lamplight

Of my bedroom reminds me

 

We are all falling,

Largely unseen in a light

So bright we careen into it, like

So many infinitesimally small moths.

 

Have you ever tried

Focusing your eyes

On a specific speck of falling dust–

The tiniest sliver of a snowflake,

As it sailed the currents

Of air in your room?

 

I have. After several attempts,

Which resulted in losing sight

Of the scintilla of dust in the white of the wall,

I was finally able to trace one

Descend, like the smallest slice of string

From some disintegrating, illuminated leaf,

 

It fell, and I saw it rise

When I exhaled, dip suddenly

When I inhaled, bank wanderingly

Towards the wall, tail back

And make my eyes cross

When it landed on my face.

 

Remember this:

After you turn out the light

Grains of dust fall upon you,

Pieces of pieces of falling white feathers

Slowly, methodically, like

The faintest of snow falls,

Covers you and everything

You love, like snow-embers

From some unseen fire,

 

And one day, when you realize

Your life is being traced by a greater

Vision, you will wake up

And see your life brushed

With ash, and you will rise,

Shake it off, remember

You are a pinch of stardust,

A dash of spice, a smidgen

Of fragrance, and it is time

To elaborate on the trajectory

Of your dreams, and turn the unavoidable

Process of falling

Into flying—

Flying into the light

Of your own brilliant desires.

 

 


 


 




Reading the Runes

Reading the Runes
By
Joseph Anthony Petro

 

 

Scatter bits of twigs to the ground,
Look up through moon-lit branches,
Get eye-level with blades of grass,
Study the kindling before it feeds the fire,
Observe the antlers of the silent deer,
Notice the positions of sleeping loved-ones,
Stop and consider wooden fences along the roadside—
Have any of the beams fallen creating a nied or kenaz?
Trace the markings of river rocks,
Contemplate graffiti and the drawings of children,
What do you cast when you hastily arrange the silverware?
Pause and pluck a moment of time,
Give thanks to Odin swung nine nights from the windswept ash,
Then read the way lines line up and down around you anywhere—
Everywhere below and above—books on shelves,
Pencils on desks, the hair in front of your eyes–
Look at the lines in your own hand—see the myriad crisscrossing runes.
We are surrounded—yes, we are
Part of the fabric—yes, we are
Living letters in skin and bone,
Stories written in flesh and blood.
What is it our every day frenzies prophecy?
What is it we say when we dance?
What divinations do our movements betray?
What messages are we writing on the pages of the world?
What spells are we casting just by walking?
How will they position our arms when we die?
Odin—send your ravens and believe we are trying
To gather the wisdom you bestowed on our lot,
See our way through the falling forest,
And welcome us home once this chapter is done.