where there was only eternal dark gray a breath, a moment, before.
Poem “Rising Sun” by Sofia Penabaz-Wiley, on January 5th, 2023, upon opening the gate for the albañiles and rising to the 3rd floor to find the splendor of day had begun considering it’s ascent into The Times.
The simple version was:
I love how the rising Sun caresses the expectant Mountains, bathing them and pastels of purple and pink and orange, where there was only gray a moment before.
And I wanted to say something about the little doves, greeting that union in graceful explosions of wings and voice, but I dared not invade that peaceful space between the Mountains and the Sun, it stayed a bit quieter in verse.
My Mama used to tell me stories about her homeland in Cuba.
In one of my favorite stories, she said that when she was a little girl, every day at sunset the people would go out into the street to sing and dance.
She said the people would go out and dance happily with things like brooms.
She would dance around the house listening to a myriad of music… My childhood was filled with sunny afternoons where the light filtered into the sliding door, lighting up hanging plants, a big fuschia, a huge begonia with brilliant red flowers, and images of my mother dancing, dancing, singing through the house, to salsa, to Mozart, to funk, to The Pointer Sisters.
My brother and I then followed suit. We had our own collection; Paul Simon, The Gypsy Kings, and several Billboard Oldies tapes including 1957 and 1964. We pranced around, flying like pixies in the open living room. From the balcony that overlooked the sapphire-like Bay of Banderas, our music wafted over the red-tiled houses, and we gleefully danced our afternoons away until the sun’s gifted last rays of gold…
That house is going away on Monday, sold into someone else’s dream. I wish for future days of music. I wish for space to dance around, and warmth, and happier days. I have no doubt that they will come, just as the sun rises each morning. We are blessed, we only need to give thanks and dance, and the universe will dance with us in rays of pink and blue and gold.
I learned a new Japanese idiom today. It is 鶴の一声. It means “the decision that has been made by the highest ranking official or person.” It sounds so stiff in English. The literal translation is, “the single call of a crane.”
So I decided to write a poem, a haiku.
美白氷河の鏡 鶴の一声 私らの血を呼ぶ。
The whitening glacial mirror
Crane’s solitary voice
Calls our blood.
People often don’t get my poems… They are too symbolic. I end up having to explain them… Can anyone guess the meaning?