her calling was simple
lift the newborns to skies
brushed clean with promise
imbue the children
with the wisdom of animals at rest
untangle the forced love of
women with waspish waists
(their struggles to breathe now over)
impart to men the unflinching
compassion that looks you
straight in the eye...
she writes, and
the frantic curves of her
calligraphy--a sweet, shaky graphic--
unlocks a puzzle that utters
all those words never spoken
which is then carefully distilled
to a tentatively growing thing
teased into blooming
(a surprisingly fiery flower)
(a rather gaudy blossom)
before ending
its strange fruition as a pink radish
tipped in haloes of light
