DIVING UP TO MY CENTER

The rocks and the baby
from last night's dreams,
I gather them both up
and hold them, rock them,
side to side, front to back,
davening prayerfully,
keep them safe
in my spacious heart.
Nature and nurture,
the bones of the earth
and the sweet flesh.

My grandmother
in her babushka
harvested her garden
saving the youngest peas
for her grandchildren
"es mein kinde,
sweet like sugar!"

My mother
can't remember
rocking to America
in a boat
as big as a whole town,
can't remember
anything special
of her childhood,

but when we really listened
she began to recall
houses in Brooklyn
second story porches
women calling back and forth,
Mrs. Ornstein yelling
"I don't want
to have that baby!"

About the landscape paintings:

MOUNTAINS AND THE SEA

She had the landscape in her arms
when she painted it.
She knew the score like a conductor
reaching for the violins, the cellos,
soaring, arcing into drumbeats
weaving melodic themes
color penetrating silent white canvas.

I have the landscape in my body.
I have been walking it, dancing it,
breathing it, sleeping it, eating it.
Now I listen to it, digest it. Color it moody.
Meet it in a new language we learn to speak together.
We mirror each other, then go through the looking glass.
Doors open to the inner landscape.

To Helen Frankenthaler, painter