"Africa is, indeed, coming into fashion." - Horace Walpole (1774)


all saints, all souls, all song

I had disappeared
into grassland, the high plateau
where the Missouri begins
to claw its way south, where hail
wets the wreckage of fields. I accept it
gratefully, even this
bitter pill.

The chaos of the wind
had taken me, like topsoil
off a hill, dark steam
churning, away
from earth. But you kept me
on your radar, Bill--
Kneel down
you said, explore
for the poem.

I love the saints,
Thérèse cried in mortal illness--
I love the saints,
they want to see--the other side
of death's bitter
remedy, Bill,
the sleep
of grass, both root
and blaze, the river ice waiting
as time forms its word, the garden
where we need not hide.

Home, you say,
as feasts wheel around
in the dark of the year, All Saints,
All Souls; all song
and story. Sing it now, Bill,
let it come.

- "All Saints, All Souls," Kathleen Norris


Anonymous Sister said...

You're welcome for the photo.

Thursday, November 01, 2007 1:01:00 PM

Blogger texasinafrica said...

That's not your photo; it's mine from 2004.

Thursday, November 01, 2007 1:15:00 PM

Anonymous sister said...

I recall sending you that photo after Bertha's funeral. Perhaps we have eerily similar tastes...

Saturday, November 03, 2007 8:26:00 PM

Blogger texasinafrica said...

No, you didn't send me this particular photo. It quite clearly came out of my "my photos" file, and I distinctly remember pulling over to the side of the road on the way from the cemetary to the cross to take it. The pictures you sent me are on my old computer.

Also, mom didn't fall down the stairs in 1984. :)

Sunday, November 04, 2007 10:35:00 PM


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