REPOST FOR FATHER’S DAY: My father loved telling stories, so although this starts out as a poem about him, it turns into one about me. No doubt though, it was his predilection for oral history that influenced my love of writing (especially loooooooong poems).
Dad was a great story teller
A bard who hoarded words
And plots, heard in the kitchen
Where he slept on the ledge of a stove
In old Romani slave quarters
Surrounded by the rich earth
Of what is now Moldova
Somewhat drunk by the wine
The children consumed
Because the water was poisonous
And it was thirsty work to be
Stomping grapes for the winery
Where he was born
Grandson of a slave
Free yet not
***
His favorite story
Was about the Sojmo
The Hawk
Also called Turul
A Hungarian word
Learned from his cousins
Who migrated to Roumania
Turul, the shamanic hawk
Perched on the Tree of Life
That strongly-rooted tree
Connecting Earth with the skies
And the Netherworld
Turul, who saved the Hungarians
From Attila the Hun
And other conquerors
Making them a powerful people
My dad liked the name Hun because
His name was Huna
His mother said he
Approached life like a savage
Like a conqueror
And Huna felt proud
***
Sojmo has been a part of my life
For many decades
I never saw one while living in Philly
But once I moved to Florida
Nature claimed me as a personal fan
And I observed birds and trees
Plants and clouds
Lightning and rainbows
So lonely, though, for a friend
Although I worked daily and met
Good people
So lonely for a man
One day, sitting by a lake
I cried out to the universe
A hawk flew at me
Sitting frozen, mesmerized
At the last second it swooped up
But we had read the eyes of the other
And I knew all would be well
A few months later I met a man named
Hawk
***
Years passed
First good
Then very bad
Then better
Then simply years
No expectations
Simply years
***
Life’s happiness
Feeding and watching
Backyard cardinals,
Woodpeckers, blue jays
Mourning doves and finches
Feeding and watching the antics
Of my dogs, sitting by the graves
Of older dogs who
Crossed the Rainbow Bridge
Then the crows came
Korako
And ate the fledglings and eggs
While I shouted, while the dogs barked
And one day they disappeared
Never returning
Occasionally circling the yard to remind me
So I imagined
That they have the power to return
And destroy the backyard birds
***
Envision my surprise
When instead of korako
I heard a whistle and saw
Five hawks
Sojmo
Repeating the savagery
That korako displayed
Last summer
Half-heartedly I shouted
Banged the metal trashcan lid
With a Live Oak branch
Fallen on the ground
From the wind and rain
The previous evening
The dogs half-heartedly barked
The man named Hawk
Refused to chase them
Siding with Sojmo
Because, I guess,
They are his totem, after all
***
Ah, do I make anything out of this?
Just birds of prey following their instinct
Looking to feast upon birds well fed
From my feeder?
Or is the appearance of Sojmo
The other bookend
The other end of the promise
And now the taking
None of the five hawks
Flew toward my face
To look me in the eye
What do I make of this
Mind-tableau
Sojmo sitting on a Live Oak
That could be the Tree of Life
Reminding me of the connection
Of the Earth and Sky
With the Netherworld
***
Sojmo
Ending another chapter
Of a life…
© 2015 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
poeturja 