Maureen Clark

African Heart

last night         a canyon wind        killed  eight swans          

in a freak storm    grass in the cemetery          pulled up like cheap carpet    

pine trees         blown down    with headstones          in their roots

 

my father’s Alzheimer’s         holds him        to the recliner

strapped in by gravity             and his muscle’s forgetfulness                                   

when we first moved south          the wind blew every day

 

kicking up clay dust       in white-grey devils        in the pasture

mom goes from the kitchen                to the hospital bed      

dozens of times a day swallowing her tears

 

yesterday         the nurse from Home Health told my mother          

you have an African heart      thinking to praise her

for the way                  she cares for him  

 

but my mother            is a worn-out deck of cards

with all the hearts            turned upside down            the constant wind                    has turned her inside out        

.

Contemplation

got side-tracked to template

as in    –shaped                      

-a pattern for process

 

-to distribute the weight                   

-an under support

-a gauge to overlay

           

-superimpose

ornament graphic

which of course

           

is what we do            

in the act of contemplating

overlap one thought

                       

on top of another     

on top of another

to follow a pattern until

           

we can superimpose

another pattern        

to make a new pattern

           

like intricate lace

as in watching shadows       

move across the grass

           

inventing and reinventing

shapes            thoughts        

and new ornaments  and

           

graphics         over the lawn

no wonder we worshiped trees      

in the past

           

rough bark under the palms            

smell of sap and earth                     

how the wind moves the tree

while we hold on      

like tiny bugs       enveloped in wood          

and the shape of music     in leaves 

 

varying in pitch from

Gingko               to Oak          to Holly

each symphony a template

                       

for other movements

in the symphony      

a melody        a cacophony

 

the prestidigitation  

of sun and leaves      

and branches

 

that do not stop moving      

until they do       until night  

pulls all the shadows    together

 

into one darkness    

then I contemplate

how much this pattern

           

is a story of mortality

distributing the weight

of living to support

 

the years I have        

or don’t have left

.

Maureen Clark’s first book, This Insatiable August, was released by Signature Books in 2024. She has been nominated twice for a 2024 Pushcart Prize. Her memoir, Falling into Bountiful: Confessions of a Once Upon a Time Mormon, won Honorable Mention in the 2024 Utah Original Writing Competition. She received her MFA from the University of Utah, where she taught for 20 years. She was president of Writers @ Work 1999-2001. Her poetry has appeared in numerous journals, including Gettysburg Review, Alaska Quarterly, Thimble Literary Journal, Cool Beans Literary Magazine, and Kestrel.

Back