Three Poems from Nancy of the Silences:
What to Do with Your Hands in Winter
We talked about things.
I was a Goddess of ribbons and small blue charms.
I never thought that anyone would
close the seams in me again, but there
you were, piling rainbow dust upon
my hair and filling time.
I touched the root of your wild place
and danced with your acceptance
in the breakwater of your eyes, loving
you with that second sight that only
blind love has.
When I made you an offering of blue and white
seawater, nothing was afraid:
Not even the strong man who kept breaking.
Not even the woman who had put nothing aside.
Betsy of the leaves,
of the wild hair,
lover of small things,
pour yourself into
the pockets of my soul.
I find this silence
Where are you
in the pale color of days?
In the whine of years?
In the storage space where
love is blinded?
We once lived together.
Now I love alone,
and cannot find you among
There was something I want to tell you
that I did not tell you before because
I was sleeping.
The leaves deserve the light.
They did not bite the light like
winds you have known.
I want to tell you one more thing:
Something is rocking my heart.
It is the breeze, speaking in tongues.
The leaves tremble.
They sound like a billion
tissue paper fairies that say,
everything could be music.