Monday Morning Musings:
“If we both describe the same thing at the same time, will one of our descriptions be more true than the other?”
–Rajiv Joseph, Describe the Night
The sun rises each day
truth, whether we see it or not
light bending through air
a neon orange ball, perhaps
a tangerine on fire—
does the description change the fact–
a rose by any other name, and all that?
The sun, a fiery ball in our sky,
the horizon, the end of all we can see
of a world that goes on and on
through space and time.
Now a whisper of spring hovers–
a bit of honeyed-light
through dragon-flamed clouds,
but is winter waning
or waiting, gathering strength to roar
with gaping mouth and jagged teeth
sending its icy breath to freeze the world,
my world, turning it white,
the sun then but a hazy memory?
Cycles, warm and cold,
sunshine and rain
birth to death,
to birth again
winter fades, spring comes.
The woman in the play foresees war,
her fortunes always predict war,
war is a constant, is it not?
War and peace and war and peace
cycling round like sun and moon.
My mother is almost a century old,
How many wars have there been–and death.
(Some days she longs for her own death.)
She has good days and bad days,
cycles, laughter and tears
Her laugh can light up a room.
I will miss that when she’s gone.
her fading away, I won’t miss that.
Once she was a child, a teen,
a vivid, energetic woman–
still, her laugh can light up a room
the way the sun lights up the sky.
Do you see it?
How would you describe it?
A sunrise? A laugh?
The days have been dreary
a slow steel sky, heavy with portent,
or dreams–waiting for spring—
there, a hawk cries from above,
there on the ground a hint of what may come
Magic all around us lies, lies all around us.
The man in the play extols the black Magic Marker,
it erases the past, a new truth can be told–
it is a crime to be alive when the state says you are dead,
perhaps eat this leech soup, and remember, the women say.
Fantasy, myth, truth, lies
this is the world,
and I think we need heroes,
real heroes like Harriet Tubman,
or perhaps the children will lead us now.
I listen to the moon’s hum, the stars’ songs
reflect on the river’s reflections
I bake and cook
trying to stay cozy in a tilting world
And if it tilts,
how will we describe the sun rising
cycles that are constant but changeable
even if we don’t notice the change till it’s too late.
Is it too late?
we watch movies and plays
and drink wine
because life goes on
until it doesn’t
light bends and what of time?
Perhaps we may see ourselves
rising again with the sun.
Merril’s Movie (and Theater) Club: We missed the movie Harriet when it was in the theaters, but it’s streaming now. The word hero is overused, but Harriet Tubman truly was one. The movie is sort of a standard bio-pic, good, but not great–but Cynthia Erivo is wonderful in the role. She seems to channel the spirit of Harriet Tubman. Also, for us, it was fun seeing local Philadelphia/New Jersey places and historical figures, such as William Still. We will be seeing a play about Harriet Tubman later this month.
We saw the play Describe the Night at the Wilma Theater in Philadelphia. Both of us totally enjoyed this play that combines myth and reality, historical figures in imaginary situations, and imaginary people in historical situations. One strand is about “Putin’s” rise, but the play goes back and forth in time. It gave us a lot to talk about afterwards. A real “Merril” play. And my husband was still able to see most of the Super Bowl when we got home. 🙂
And lest you think I only watch serious things–we binge-watched the second season of Sex Education on Netflix.
Sometimes we do not control what we watch.