11/17/2024
(***Poem from my anthology, My Mother Dreamed of the Nile***)
Aviary
At least three thousand years ago we shared a glance, across the sands. Emeralds and azurite, lapis and prasiolite, stones from near and far lay spilt there, betwixt sand and sunlight…
We had the same colored, ocher eyes.
In gauzy garb, and feathered cloak, we shared a mournful wail and one of hope.
Only mine was silent. My mouth was covered, so I did not breathe in the dust. I had not adapted, as the camel. Her scintillant, prismatic head, turned.
Opals. And my wide gaze lustrous, and glistering, I cried.
Both of us have been symbols of wealth. Peacock and I, luxury items.
Phoenicians carried her through coruscant waters, from India’s open forests and shimmery streams, through Mediterranean sea swells, to the feet of the pharaohs.
I know now, my health is your symbol of wealth. How am I doing? Do my feathers stand in the light, an upside down, fanned waterfall?
‘My daughter, you are worth anything’, does not mean I must be bought!
It means I am to be protected, even with your life… And that speaks not of battle, but of harmony.
For the treasure I bring is that nourishing essence… at home in the peacock and the sunrise.
We can dance as well as walk, sing as well as talk.
And I wish for all being’s thriving…
In Florida…
Dripping, from the water, I stood clad in a little girl’s swimsuit.
Bedizened by subtropical rainforests, he lifted his heart—in feather.
I left, for my camera.
When I returned, he turned. He shook like a mesmeric nebula. Crest erect. Again, for me.
I handed the camera to someone else.
I stood behind him. And peeked, through the feathers.
Our eyes were the same color…
Maddox Lightning~
*The last paragraph of this poem is italicized- although Facebook does not show it. This portion of the poem references an experience I had as a teen, with a peacock in Florida, when my grandmother took me to an aviary... While the beginning portion speaks of the history of peacocks being introduced into Egypt and Syria, over three thousand years ago.*
(*Photo of a macaw, from Parque das Aves, in Argentina, during my trip to Brazil. This park is a healing sanctuary for trafficked birds. Many birds are restored to the forest. I believe this macaw was a hybrid between varieties of macaw. The second photo is at the same park, where I preformed with a Peruvian singer, on the deer toe rattle. The marking you can see on my arm, is from local, native woman- a gift for me, after I sang for her- and represents the macaw. This bird flies high, and as I was translated to, 'even when they slip, when they are down, they are still up'. Seeing the macaws in person, in an open space, was incredible... I have never seen such creative birds. They were so busy peeling bark, pulling up plants, digging in the soil, amending their environment. The macaw and I, in these photos, both descendants of complex, mixed history.*)
