Tag Archives: prairie images

Everything is in the Shape of a Bird, a Fish or a Woman

 

Everything is in the Shape of a Bird, a Fish or a Woman

Look how they frown in the old photograph:
my grandmother, her sister,
her two daughters and her granddaughter.   
All of the women are very stern.
Grandma looks out of her element,
her eyes shielded against the sun.

In the yellowing photo,
“Taken at homestead” written on the back,
They stand, stark house behind them.
From the porch overhang, a sparse vine hangs,
but on the hidden tendril of the vine,
in the dead tan prairie that surrounds the scene,
in the summer grass bent low, I imagine birds.

It is a drying photo—brittle, cracked,
of three generations of prairie women.
Although none there knew it,
a waterhole is in their near future,
and in this stock pond that my dad would someday dig,
would swim perch and crappies,
sunfish, northern pike.

And although none there will ever see it,
in my house, everything is in the shape of a bird, a fish or a woman.
On the wall hangs an earthy goddess–
stolid and substantial. 
Birds perch on her shoulder, arm and knee.
On the hearth, a crow formed out of chicken wire.

A soapstone fish swims the window ledge
beside that aging photograph
and on another window ledge
 are two ancient terra cotta figurines.
The small one kneels in her kimono, playing pipes.
The large one stands wide-hipped
with arms narrowing to points
above the elbow.

In my studio,
a still-damp terra cotta figure
holds a fat plum.
On drying canvasses,
Women recline in their vulnerable states–
layers of wet flesh tones, yellows, purplish reds.

The house in the photograph
has been long-felled by rot and fire and rust.
All of the people except the youngest are dead.
Yet still in the grass, the meadowlark.
and in the muddy pond the minnow.

In the glass of the photo frame, I see my own reflection–
thinning lips pulled into one straight line.
around me is their house, their sky, their prairie grass.
In the glass, my face
turns into the face of my grandmother.
I flinch but do not falter.
I look deeper.
Reflected in one eye, a perched bird.
in the other eye, a swimming fish.

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(To enlarge all photos, click on first photo and arrows.)

 

Drive

From Denver to Cheyenne to Sheridan to Murdo to Sheridan again, for these past three weeks I’ve been in overdrive!  It has been wonderful, but it is about over.  If you’ve never driven through Wyoming and South Dakota, this is just a tiny bit of what you have missed. Today, back to Sheridan, Tuesday to Denver, Wednesday back to Mexico.

This has been a fabulous trip, but, yesterday I literally tripped and fell flat trying to take a photo in the middle of Main Street in my home town during its 100th birthday celebration––luckily after the parade!  So, twisted ankle, swollen knee, wrenched back.  Time to go back to a different home.  My camera broke, so few pictures of people were retrievable, but in a day or so, I’ll have some stories to tell.  Good news is, after two trips from the router guys who had to come 150 miles to do repairs, looks like my friend Mark’s motel has had its wifi  problems taken care of.

It has been 50 years that I’ve been coming to these 5 year all-school reunions.  In that time, the high school population has shrunk by half, down to 49 students, even though it has gone from being a town school to a county-wide school.  Lots of energy still left judging by last night’s alumni dance–the floor mainly populated by young families and cowboys and cowgirls. Still a good representation by my class of 1965, but that is a story for a day when I don’t have to pack and be in the car in minutes.   Bye, Murdo.  See you again in five years.

Please click on the first photo to enlarge them all and see the true magnitude of these prairie views.

 

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