And I will Be With You by Pilar Kimbrell (for my father)

            I walk along the ridge,
            the grey of smoke
            smothers the mountains,
            burns my nostrils
            to remind me that even
            in the midst of spacious
            un bounding beauty,
            there can be an invisible scar.
            
            The old lab
            meanders behind me,
            his heavy footed gait
            and bobbing head
            taking in the width
            of this vast land….
            He reminds me of other days,
            not that long ago
            when he would bound
            into the sage
            barking
            full throttle
            and flush
            the unsuspecting sage grouse….

            Time has no mercy
            it weaves our stories
            throughout
            this land
            and in the winter
            they melt into the snows
            of days gone by….
            into the shadows
            of all the songs
            we have sung:
            thunder claps
            and raging winds,
            only to hear them
            echoed back
            many years later
            in the sunset
            of this autumn day.

            You will quietly stop
            the mind’s song
            soon,
            like the tired thrush
            or weakened meadow lark
            whose last call
            sinks
            into the eve’s misty sunset,
            and I, your hija lejana
            walking in the Rockies
            will be with you
            past the long
            years,
            the ups and downs
            of your heart,
            the angers of your mind
            the muddle of your life,
            holding
            clear
            a last vision
            past this day
            and time:
            I see you
            strong:
            a tall latino,
            full head of wavy
            salt and pepper hair
            proud bearing
            of
            Bedouin ancestry,
            laughing
            flashing
            that slightly
            lascivious grin
            every woman
            within 100 miles
            would run to greet.
            Oh, father
            what  irreverent greetings
            you shared with the ladies,
            dances
            when cheek to cheek
            seemed too mild
            for your huge hands,
            and how you filled
            the space with genuine
            adventurous tales
            they could never resist.

            I see you early in the dawn’s light
            tired from the night’s revelry,
            but your mind filled
            with metaphors
            anxious to be spilled
            onto the simple
            composition books
            wherein you spilled your guts,
            dreams,
            frustrations
            joys
            your life…..

            Today, I feel that song
            the long one
            trying to fade
            but still
            lingering
            so as not to miss
            that one last vision,
            the perfect image
            you need
            to fill your soul
            as you drift
            to the other side
            where all the life
            you lived
            will shift
            like the light of this hazy day
            into a long line of grey
            quiet
            peaceful
            endless…..
            
            
            
            
            

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Blue Moon by Pilar Kimbrell (for my dad who is still with us)

The winds blow the same songs my way
the ones I’ve heard
in my darkest nights,
but somehow today
they carry a lighter tune
as if to remind me
never to take anything
too damn seriously
because everything
tumbles
like the weed
the sage
the dry grass..
it all gets shifted
and lured to higher
deeper
steeper ground,
only to be tossed back
more powerfully
than ever,
rounded
brightened
shined
by constant
change
and
sloughing
of the repetitive
irrelevant
trash of life:
sweetened by the struggle
of what was.
can never be, must be, won’t be….
pounded to the very
core of the matter,
the seed,
that falls
on fertile land
to once again blossom
into a force
as yet unknown…..

And then the night brings the moon,
3/4
almost full fertile
high in the dusk
and bright
in the dawn sky
setting on the ridge
behind me
like huge jewel
balanced
in the distance
but ever so close
to my heart
that hears its night call:
I feel the swell
of my heart tide
rise to the yelping
of coyotes
dancing
just beyond the sage,
in full abandon
they celebrate,
and I envy them,
love them,
want them,
or is it the sheer
animal lust
I vaguely scent……

Another moon has come and gone:
each one leaving
a tiny memory
in my heart:
a kiss under clouds,
a child’s morning embrace,
a father’s fading voice,
a beloved dog’s bark,
the fall and rise
of my heart
as it falls
deeper
into the quiet
dawn
of meditation……

The wind has come
and gone,
the moon risen
and set,
the quiet has set in,
and I am grateful
for the gift to take
note:
once again……

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