Poem for Sunday and Aquatic Gardens

My Mother Was No White Dove
By Reginald Shepherd

no dove at all, coo-rooing through the dusk
and foraging for small seeds
My mother was the clouded-over night
a moon swims through, the dark against which stars
switch themselves on, so many already dead
by now (stars switch themselves off
and are my mother, she was never
so celestial, so clearly seen)

My mother was the murderous flight of crows
stilled, black plumage gleaming
among black branches, taken
for nocturnal leaves, the difference
between two darks:

a cacophony of needs
in the bare tree silhouette,
a flight of feathers, scattering
black. She was the night
streetlights oppose (perch
for the crows, their purchase on sight),
obscure bruise across the sky
making up names for rain

My mother always falling
was never snow, no kind
of bird, pigeon or crow

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Dementordelta is here so we can go see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Two tomorrow morning with my family, and we are currently watching Colin Firth's Saturday Night Live appearance from 2004 courtesy Sandra, having just finished watching Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part One and eating chocolate cake and chocolate covered cherries, so I will make this quick.

This morning my family went to Kenilworth Park and Aquatic Gardens for the Lotus and Water Lily Festival, though we spent more time just looking at the water lilies and wetlands than at the festival, which had traditional Asian dancing and crafts (plus fabulous lotus tea). Then we went to the National Arboretum to see the exhibit on the creation of a bonsai, where we also visited the koi and had a picnic near the visitor center.

















More tomorrow after HP7.2#2!