Renga in memory of Constance Vivian Taylor Mungall, writer, who called herself “Tree.” Written at Purdyfest, July 30-31, 2009.
The first stanza came from Jeff Sefinga, who supplied the hokku.
tall trees, tall trees
through it
a river runs
larger than life you were
we heard the wind from far away
mice overran the shack
both floors
even the smoky mezzanine
small life running scared
finds a home
tree tracery before the moon
silver, ghostly light
black twigged fingers sway
seasons end prematurely
in the whine of chainsaws
how can I pray to a distant god?
tree stumps burned over to charcoal
no leaf to fall
I am the scorched earth, mother,
but look, green pushes through
we wore funny hats with flowers and laurel wreaths
we walked on stilts
nothing was the same
it’s not hard to die
you proved it Monday night
you grew thinner then more thin yet
brittle stiffened bones
you called yourself “Tree”
your lover sifts photographs on your wooden deck
behind your silent house
through the window in your secret room
moonlight reflects from snow
warm has fled
the woodstove crackles hot
you made linden tea
freckles grown cold
hooded eyes closed
listeners hear no returning breath
breathing in
breathing . . . out
cherry blossoms swell
pink drift of petals in the garden
you climbed on the roof
opening the cabin door
you shoo away the mice
I will walk the road one more time
pick the early marguerite
buds burst this final spring
stroking your broken son’s cheek
you found a word
found words in wordlessness
in your long refusal to take in food
the smile back there, behind your eyes
“Are you tired?” “It was nice,”
he told me. “You know, it was nice!”
temperatures soar
dust in the blue air
a feather, flown
wet gull feather, floating
dries to white fluff
head bent at your kitchen table
doing your accounts
I dropped a kiss on soft white curls
I mean, that was my goodbye
and the smell of cinnamon
on foot you plunged down the dark
opened doors
in an abandoned motel
a transport truck bore down on us
you crossed in your little red car – fast
earth’s shadow slides to cover
an autumn-like moon
sky coin rusting red
evergreen, its lower limbs, long ago, cut off
head in the scudding clouds
do you remember
we skinnydipped
yellow leaves clung to your breasts
you lost the words
did you also lose the memories?
soft recall of morning ritual
visit the four corners of your yard
greeting each tree
cherry blossom time, there will be no
baskets readied for the cherries
Connie, I send this dandelion
its bright cheeky flash
and tender new leaves
white fluff blows away
seeds a deep healing root
~ Margaret Slavin Dyment
