The Gardener Tends the Sleeping Flowers, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

The Gardener Tends the Sleeping Flowers

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

The gardener moves in the darkness among the flowers

And bushes in the cemetery of caves and stones–

Who does that?  Who gardens by the light of the moon?

Who touches the closed faces and hands

And whispers blessings upon them?

Who prunes unnecessary branches as if baptizing a child?

Who bends down, robe of golden threads mixing with the earth,

And pulls weeds from around the herbs and succulents?

Who sculpts the soil of the roses?

Who tends the nests of sparrows while at the same time

Looks for you?

 

The one who walks among the graves.

The one who sees your beauty in the shadows.

The one who turns towards you

Even when you do not recognize him.

The one who removes the hood of his cloak,

And calls you by name.

 

 

 

 


 




Winter Solstice by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Winter Solstice
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

frost

 

 

My life thinking
I was a man
Froze into one long
Winter solstice;
During the darkness
Of beards and switch blades
I moved through time asleep,
During the endless
City-silencing snow
Confused relationships
Shattered like ice-laden branches,
During the deep cold of addiction
And orgasms dissociation in the ceiling
Provided momentary relief
From this mist-filled body,
In the frost-shawled grass
I stood barefoot to see
If I was alive, and when it snowed
I would drop and make flocks
Of angels to see my imprint
In wings and a dress,
Little did I know
This solstice was a Bethlehem,
Little did I know
My spirit was ripe with child,
Little did I know
Herod would have killed me
By mistake,
Little did I know
Light grew in the womb
Of my soul,
And with each lengthening day
More of me crested
From the dark bush of the dark mother
Into the world of melting snow,
And mother darkness
Became my heaven
Swaddling me in thankful,
Earth-scented arms,
And now, as I shed these last days
Of winter,
I find myself
Stepping into my life
Born fully realized
As Ruth, lover of Naomi,
As Mary Magdalene,
Lover of alabaster and fragrance,
As one of the two women
Grinding together
In Luke, only when the night comes
We shall both be whisked away
Scented in the sweetest sin,
Swathed in the most holy darkness,
And carried to heaven’s bed
Where we can bloom a Summer Solstice
Between our oceanic bodies of bliss.

 

melting

 


 

 

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