Maureen Micus Crisick

the ghetto stars pinned to cloth
could lift from history
like angels soaring to the sky.
The air which holds cinders
of Buddist robes, burned hair
of ones who doused themselves, set fire,
suppose the plume of smoke
becomes clear and white.

What did I say?
I said: what if Sarejavo is not burning
and no city is burning
and in the market square
no human head is impaled upon a stick
or mute limbs strewn on streets,
and no fingers exist without hands.

Suppose grenades side with sunlight.
Bullets in boxes become
chocolate wrapped in gold foil,
and in Guatemala, the men come back
from their disappearance,
and in the morning, wake in their own beds
because love is the white moon
and light moves in us like blood.

there will be holes left in clothes
but not from ripped stars,
only from wear,
to let the darkness out.

please note: art by Marc Chagall


  1. You said it sister, very moving. If only...

  2. Wow, and the painting is the perfect accompaniment.

  3. Yet again, coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous... someone else said that, can't remember Anyway, this morning my mum and dad called round and we were discussing collective nouns, first coincidence; then I wrote in my blog about inspiration... the second!.. This is a beautiful place, thank you!

  4. What counsel has the moon
    put in thy heart,
    of love in ancient plenilune...
    ...thank you for saying it.

  5. Of all modern artists, Chagall's work was the most lyrical and beautiful. Please us all use it more often in your fine blog. Count Sneaky

  6. Was just checking this out in the community, and found YOU. What a great site. I will be reading and looking often.
    Great motivation for my motivation blog too...thanks!


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