Thank you, Alma, lovely poet full of generosity and compassion, for this gift of a poem for Ronan. Lorca was my muse this summer, so Alma is also a mind-reader!
“Where is the duende? Through the empty arch comes
a wind, a mental wind, blowing relentlessly over the
heads of the dead, in search of new landscapes and
unknown accents; a wind that smells of baby’s spittle,
crushed grass, and jellyfish veil, announcing the constant
baptism of newly created things.” Federico Garcia Lorca*
GIFT
I keep writing to
Lil Ronan, every
stage of his life,
(dreaded/beloved) teenhood,
manhood, I follow him,
I follow you, so
far until my mind/heart
collapses with grief, imagining
what you live
daily, Emily,
and I’m left with
questions, simple questions-
What song does every
mother’s womb sing to her
child? What light connects
the unborn to the born, the
dying to the living, those
waiting their turn to be
come flesh, vulnerable flesh,
life death life death
**Sound of a rattle**
again, oh again, between
their mother’s dark thighs, a
light emerges. What is this
light, always ancient, always
new, why do we long for
light, why do we long for
darkness, why do we wait
our turn life death life death
**Sound of a rattle**
Why do some be-come only
in the womb, a year, four
years, 16, 28, 49, 54, 90,
110, why, life death life death
**Sound of a rattle, sacred rattle**
I ask the ocean, why?
I ask the mountain, why?
I ask the stars, why?
And of course, I ask the Sun,
why? I ask Grandmother
Moon, why? I ask
my dream, why, why?
Within the awe-full silence,
the music, drums and rattles,
voices from womb, heart, throat,
I hear, gift, repeated
endlessly,
chanted endlessly, one
word, gift, we are offered,
we must receive, or not,
and you have life death life
death life la mar
moans, sings, in
love with salt, human
DNA, the womb echoes
ancient tide,
ancient child,
ancient rattle (stones,
bones, seeds), gift.
Alma Luz Villanueva
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
January 1, 2012
To Emily Rapp, her son Ronan
A poem I keep writing, so finally here it is, con amor…
*In Search of Duende, Federico Garcia Lorca
Little Seal 
I can see and hear Alma reciting the poem, performing it, breathing it into Ronan and Emily with an energy only she possesses. As always, Emily, you are in my thoughts; how wonderfully you are experiencing this life you have.
Tisha said it better than i would have. Beautiful poem, Alma. (am catching up on the blog)
What a privilege it is to have connection with women writers!
Alma was my first mentor at Antioch. Her heart burns so very bright. Lovely, just lovely….
Gorgeous, wise.
Beautiful, Alma. ❤
My comment is unrelated to your current entry, but I have been following your blog, and just read this, and thought you might appreciate it:
http://jenniferlawler.com/wordpress/?p=747
Sending love to you, and Ronan, Emily. I follow everything that you write and feel like you are my own. Love Barbara
utterly beautiful.