language-woman-man

Each woman has multiple histories. Sometimes we synthesize them to reveal the whole self. Sometimes we deconstruct them to analyze how we came to be. But most of the time, we just live. Our love stories are one history we must own. I do that in the collection currently titled, This Passion's History.

When I lived in Colorado, I saw a columbine growing through a rock. The roots were in soil and somehow the stem had grown through stone, letting the beautiful blue-purple flower sit on the other side. I was struck by the strength of the columbine, and the contrasting nature of its petals. The outer petals like spikes a defense for the soft and delicate curves of the inner petals. 


The rock columbine sat on the edge of a small alpine lake where I watched a fourth of July firework celebration. For years after, I have thought of that flower as a metaphor for women, and the intensity of the fireworks exploding overhead while simultaneously reflecting in the water, a metaphor for relationships, or at least my relationship at the time.

photo from morgueFile by sirdouglas

language
                  woman
                                 man

see that columbine
where the kiss explodes
firework reflections
in the lake over
snow-peaked mountains

passion framed purity

spikes blaze 
reach for you
pierce
crack rocks

snow, water, steel
complete flower

hard enough for the mountains
warm enough for the cold
craves soil
and laughter

water
            touch
                        and sun.


©Erin Croley

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