Holy Day

by Anna Varney-Wong

 

mom is watching the rain
drops dropping
counting her days
on her counter
1st this way then that
watching the passing train
rat-a-tat-tat-tat
rat-a-tat-tat-tat
a lit window, a lit window
window, window, window
rat-a-tat-tat-tat
rat-a-tat-tat-tat
a rapist is pounding
gra-anna’s body
which she left
again and again
boom boom boom
it’s not hail, it’s not a hammer
it’s a rock falling down the mountain
on these bodies in this land
of the living
where we’re all dead

my husband a-lights
to pinch my cheeks
he cries, ‘pinch the mooon!!!’
it’s all colours
beach balls bouncing
bounce bounce bounce
in this land of mirrors
where we think we must think
to understand living
in this land of the dead
have you noticed
how close ‘alone’ is to all-one?

the mantra beads clink in the morning
clink clink clink
tryambakam*:
when the time is right
the ripe cucumber falls from the vine:
may we be free from attachment
free free free
my mother is counting the rain beads
clink clink clink

at last the chance came
to cut the umbilical cord
where we were hanging
strung to the tree
setting us free free free
ashes are candles on the Ganga
taking this chance
to be free free free

the rain falls gently

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