Page 40 - the NOISE April 2014

The Soul Seeks Itself by Jason Cassella
There is something sacred in you brother,
something ineffable
that everybody notices and dances with and loves
with all the iron binding to carry oxygen in the blood
with memories of the star and supernova it once was,
or with every morsel of flesh or with that thing that is not a thing, that piece of the great mystery that recognizes in you itself immanent, beautiful, and holy.
When you were a baby you were very fat.
You actually chuckled, a sound so funny that you made me laugh.
You would cry when I cried, relieving me the burden of environment with eyes so sweet, and so loving still, that you’ll never have to
try their magic out, but their truth might reflect a glimmer
every time they melt through glass, red through the orange at its edges, surrounded still by a weave of memories missing each other
and long conversations under the sky near green things
stretching toward the sun, drumming thunder in their veins
as the sacred drums for you.
I am so bashful when people tell me how proud they are of me, because it cannot compare to how proud I am of you —
one of my favorite secrets, that your life is wise and happy
and full with the blessing of needing more, reaching toward the sun, the soul seeking itself.
I am so proud that you understand there’s more wisdom
in happy creases than sad lines skinned through faces,
and I will always guard that with images of wolf and otter and mustang
and snake and moth and bee and victories over witches and whole covens alike and lifetimes in life and time as the backward lie
and healers using the quickening of light
and mountain lions leaving their skin on juniper branches for human souls
and blue stones marking the growls of hounds on the hunt to kill
what they don’t understand down as silence.
I will always kneel on my way to put fire to sweet grass and herbs whispering beauty to the wind for you.
You see, there is something sacred about you brother. And I am walking to meet you.
I am forever moving to love you.
Driving with Spiders by Jason Cassella
A lucent copper spider has followed me from one vehicle to the next, hiding behind the blinder, peeking out when the engine starts and then scaling his past back home.
In front of the grocery store yesterday I felt overwhelmingly solid and mindlessly pulled my cell phone from my pocket, emptily staring at it, but of course no one had called to retrieve me from the present.
| Jason Cassella is a Kingman poet & father.
40 • APRIL 2014 • the NOISE arts & news • thenoise.us
jasoncassella@yahoo.com