To Live Again - Poem by Mara Lemanis
To Live Again
The wind sent my voice
to wail at the sun–
The sky is falling
palisades of rain—
What is wrong?
The sun rips sluices
through the pillared mist
strikes cataracts that
burn through clouds;
What is happening?
The world’s heart of
iron pumps magma
to choke the
round earth’s corners;
We are but dorsal life,
Our young are wrinkled
in their bones
they’ve parched their
basketfuls of eggs,
Our old sit by campfires
dimmed to embers,
The animals we dote on
The animals we feed on
drop their heads away
out of our hands
and sniff the ground,
pale grass seed soaked in oil,
they lap the sludge that
shrivels their bowels;
Birds wing from soot to
altitudes of char—
What is planned?
the wind wails through my voice;
How has it come to pass
that the earth flesh of
the world is sapped
that the prophecies
each day are false
and the night brings demons,
that our visions blind us
and only the dying
pines dream dreams—
Something looms glistening
above scorched plains;
a thing vaster than our sphere
mass big as Neptune
grazes our crust to
rain the large rain
down again;
Pray let it be a hallowed rock
that slakes the earth’s remains,
that wakes dry bones to live again.
Mara Lemanis
Mara Lemanis
Biography: Mara Lemanis is a literary scholar. Her essays have been selected for 20th CENTURY LITERARY CRITICISM and are included in undergraduate student textbooks in the U.S.
She has worked as an archivist for Historical Preservation and with the IRC, assisting refugees in Oakland, California.
Disclaimer: The views, opinions and positions expressed within this guest article are those of the author Mara Lemanis alone and do not represent those of the Marbella Marbella website. The accuracy, completeness and validity of any statements made within this article are not guaranteed. We accept no liability for any errors, omissions or representations. The copyright of this content belongs to Mara Lemanis and any liability with regards to infringement of intellectual property rights remains with the author.
