Séverine Gallardo: Ekphrastic Writing Responses, Curated by Kate Copeland

Die Erde & Der Himmel (Heaven and Earth), by Séverine Gallardo (France) 2024

Heaven and Earth
 
Reality reins,
into cohabitation,
of heaven and earth.
 
Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
 
Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher has been writing since 2010 and has had many micro-flash fiction stories published. In 2018 her book Shorts for the Short Story Enthusiasts was published, The Importance of Being Short, in 2019 and In A Flash in 2022. She currently resides on Long Island, New York with her husband Richard and dogs Lucy and Breanna.
 
**
 
Therapeutic Art That Makes Us Grow
 
Social psychologist Amy Cuddy argues that expansive body postures
increase self-confidence and the positive influence we have on other people.
To help us remember to do this when speaking to another person, she
suggests to “pretend there's a hat, or object, on our head that we are
supporting.”
 
I imagine for a second that I’m wearing one of these super colourful and fun head
ornaments created by Séverine Gallardo.
The thought of that spectacular hat on my head makes me feel like I am a steeple
of a cathedral connecting with the sky.
With the overshoulderarmsleeve, I feel as if I were a living part of a luminous
garden. 
A garden that emerges from the Artist’s mind and that tends to a paradise.
I feel a connection with Nature as if I were hugging a tree, but, here, it is the
tree that is hugging me.
 
Jean Bourque
 
Jean lives in Montreal. He is passionate about nature and sylvotherapy. He particularly enjoys hugging trees, except for conifers…because of the resin.
 
**
 
To Séverine Gallardo Regarding Die Erde & Der Himmel
 
You fashion us as juxtaposed
--  between the sensed and undisclosed  --
as bridge connecting things observed
to spirit never seen but served...
 
...as flesh aware yet mystified,
by timeless reach of soul inside
unique as force inherent free
to destine as its legacy
 
the mind, the eye, the hand, the heart
becoming tools of human art
to leave behind the work and worth
of time's decay and its rebirth
 
of crafted selfless sacrifice
that Love intended to entice
as promise kept of living Grace
that we become in faith's embrace.
 
Portly Bard
 
Portly Bard: Prefers to craft with sole intent...
of verse becoming complement...
...and by such homage being lent...
ideally also compliment.
 
Ekphrastic joy comes not from praise
for words but from returning gaze
far more aware of fortune art
becomes to eyes that fathom heart.
 
**
 
You Are On My Mind
 
Swathed in the fabric of life
I enter and think of you only.
Tall and bright -the Tower on Pisa on my head.
Swaying back and forth.
You inhabit my brain and go forth in the world.
The beauty of color and fabrics leads me to accolades and wisdom.
I am a success in this world -tall and mighty.
The vision atop my head pushes me onward to brilliance.
I am observed and admired for my creative fortitude.
I am acknowledged for the new heights I have reached.
Talent is once again the center of my universe.
My audience applauds and awaits my entrance.
The awards are endless.
I am the mistress of creation.
My entrance is greeted by all.
Cheers abound from the crowd.
Hand clapping causes my ears to ring with endless applause.
My hat is a supreme success -my head dizzy with recognition.
I enter the room as people bend and bow.
Crowds cheer and genuflect.
Perfection is mine.
 
Sandy Rochelle 
 
Sandy Rochelle is an Internationally published poet. Actress and narrator. She narrated and produced the documentary film Artwatch about Art historian James Beck. Her poetry has appeared in: Wild Word, One Art, Dissident Voice, Connecticut River Review, Haiku Universe, Impspired, Indelible, and  others. Her chapbook, Soul Poems, was published by Finishing Line Press.
 
**
 
The Daughters of Atlas
 
“…Atlas... bade Hercules hold up the sky in his stead. Hercules promised to do so, but succeeded by craft in putting it on Atlas instead....he begged Atlas to hold up the sky till he should put a pad on his head.”  - Apollodorus, Library II.5.11, 
c. 1st-2nd century CE
 
Old tales tell of mighty men who fought to lose
What women daily bear with ease and grace
For men cannot balance the world on their heads
Who portray each daily chore as legend
 
But it is now strong and stately women 
Who hold up the sky’s unlikely colours
Pastel shades of blush and dawn nourishing
Towering gardens of russet and sage
 
As women have done since before the beginning
No matter what elder tales may tell
Balancing life as if practicing posture
Draping the world across their left shoulders
 
A cauldron of time there heaped and expanding
The world-serpent’s skin coiled around her brow
Her veins gush with the wine of summer
Heaven and earth a mere fashion statement
 
Heavily felt yet lightly burdened
Royal purple worn most casually
With her grace and a firm simplicity
For that which she bears is not all that she is
 
Mark Hendrickson
 
Mark Hendrickson (he/him/his) is a gay poet and writer in the Des Moines area navigating the Sturm und Drang of daily life through wordcraft. His work has appeared in Variant Lit, Vestal Review, Modern Haiku, Spellbinder, and others. He has a background in music, psychology, and marriage & family therapy. Mark worked for many years as a Mental Health Technician on a locked psychiatric unit. Follow him @MarkHPoetry, or visit his website:  https://www.markhendricksonpoetry.com
 
**
 
Elevate Your Thoughts
 
When the strain of this world
becomes a heavy padded cloak
that sits heavily over your shoulder
like the biggest epaulette ever
it does not matter how lovely it is,
the skill and care in its creation,
the green land and the forests of it,
flooded rivers running down your arm,
red lava flows reaching to your wrist.
The roiling mass of its primal forces
and drive for survival overwhelm:
it is fight or flight, kill or be killed.
When this lopsided burden threatens
to overcome you, contemplate heaven.
 
Lift your mind above earthly things,
the rock strata, the land, the water.
Elevate your troubled thoughts
to a more rosy view above,
dwell on those higher matters.
Unknowable portals will lead you
to mystical realms beyond.
This is the essence of the infinite,
its strangeness unquantifiable,
its exotic nature beyond our ken.
We can try to imagine it, taste it,
the fruit of a new kind of Eden
untainted by mortal corruption.
Clothe your head with meditations,
send prayers to rise in spirals,
make a mitre from your mantras.
 
Emily Tee
 
Emily Tee is a writer living in the UK Midlands. She's had pieces published in Ekphrastic Review Challenges previously, and elsewhere online and in print, including most recently in Poetry Scotland.
 
**
 
A Tendency to Work in Squares
 
I wear the office inside my window            Grafting Bosch onto their burnt life
Bold, risqué, exploratory graveyard            The people made of victory gardens
Grey of cadmium neutron absorbers          The people fresh with fruit and lush
Without which the system explodes          With the wreckage of lasting greens
 
Propst the rat race Daedalus for this          Mismatched patch over the software
Minoan Age of cheese yellow sheets         Sheltering my catgut jeweling bright
Bull market with hecatomb jaundice          What won’t belong makes belonging
Bully bullshit bullpen Chinaware era          Happen by the process called longing
 
When I’m cold I drape myself in the          Whenever the body becomes a rufous 
Nondescript bucolic cell lit with heat         Halo of kestrel and an orphic mammal
Magna cum laude certificate in Excel         The body also wears the leeward dive
Summa of the backroom imagination         Its determinate, uncertain textile rustle
 
Starched cloud atmosphere ironed on       Cockaigne resembling karst the heart
The end of the world isn’t a spheroid         Lithic mordant caustic a talon a claw
Flat, unwrinkled, unblinking fissions           A hand reaching for variegated fruits
Cleaved panes resembling utopianism      Without which the system explodes
 
JDG

JDG (they/them) is a writer based in Brooklyn, NY and a member of the New Haven Writers' Group. Their work has been published, among other places, in Cleaver Magazine, Prospectus, and Prairie Schooner. You can find more of their work at JustinDGoodman.com
 
**
 
Easter Parade
 
The parade was over.
I was as pleased
with my creation,
as any creator would be,
especially a mad Hatter like me!
But though it was over, I wasn’t done.
 
I had so many pieces left over,
so many earthly marvels
still awaiting creation,
so I collaged a sleeve,
modified a sweater
clothed the Earth.
mapped its changes
and created some more heavenly art.
 
Lynn White
 
Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She has been nominated for Pushcarts, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Consequence Magazine, Firewords, Vagabond Press, Gyroscope Review and So It Goes Journal. Find Lynn at: https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com///www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/
 
**
 
The Reluctant Model
 
Why would someone do this to me?
It weighs a tonne and I feel a fool.
 
There's skill and artistry
in the intricate designs, but
any beauty in the detail is lost
in the overall execution.
 
No I won't smile for the camera
this thing is giving me a headache
and if I move a muscle
it will all come tumbling down.
 
So many problems in the world need solutions
and you choose to do this to me?
 
Juliet Wilson
 
Juliet Wilson is an adult education tutor, wildlife surveyor and conservation volunteer based in Edinburgh, Scotland. Her poetry and short stories have been widely published. She can be found in various places online as Crafty Green Poet.
 
**
 
Bluebird Liturgy
 
Heaven reached down and touched the earth, dipped its fingertips into the soil, grasped tree roots. Heaven kissed the earth and the roots broke through the ground, blossomed into majestic tree clouds. There, in the branches, a bluebird lifted its beak in gratitude toward Heaven and sang, “Then heaven touched the earth,” again and again. Three other bluebirds in red nests caught the refrain from the west and carried the tune, passing its notes from one to the other. Then the trio sang in unison, a three-part harmony. Red petals unfurled and worms crept out of the soil to find each other. The bluebirds knew no more effective prayer than this: “Then heaven touched the earth. And all was well.”
 
Barbara Krasner
 
Barbara Krasner earned a World Art History certificate from Smithsonian Associates as she grappled with the confluence of chronic illnesses. Writing in response to art, especially surrealist art, helps her heal. Her work has been featured in The Ekphrastic Review, MacQueen's Quinterly, and elsewhere. Her first ekphrastic poetry collection is forthcoming from Kelsay Books. Visit Barbara's website at www.barbarakrasner.com.
 
**

Woven in Dialectic
 
Here I stand on firm foundations
A thesis of thinking labelled on Die Erde
Wrapping arms with world sensations
Blocking fears, I've long been scared of
 
And yet above I continue to contend
An antithesis of angst that awaits in Der Himmel
Resting where my mind has never been
Imagining a worth beyond metaphysical
 
As all my observations blend into Das Leben
I synthesize, paired of the middle, woven in dialectic
 
Brendan Dawson
 
Brendan Dawson is an American born writer based in Italy. He writes from his observations and experiences while living, working, and traveling abroad. Currently, he is compiling a collection of poetry and short stories from his time in the military and experiences as an expat.
 
**

ensorcelled
 
what is it like to be
a hill, a tree, a place
of impossible beauty
that moves into spirit
expanding beyond all
estimation?  how to
measure time when
it disappears and loses
its borders?  when
what was formerly
distant pulls the outside
in and speaks in voices
that are not sounds
but images of pure
lucidity?  that can only
be heard in the hushed
luminescence of word
lessness, the cosmic hum?
 
Kerfe Roig
 
A resident of New York City, Kerfe Roig enjoys transforming words and images into something new. Follow her explorations on her blogs, https://methodtwomadness.wordpress.com/ (which she does with her friend Nina), and https://kblog.blog/.
 
**
 
Mad Hatter?

A helmet, hat, a mindset space,
agenda for evolving taste,
grandmother’s knee to artistry.

It started in a crochet tool,
repeated gestures, time again,
ahead, remoulding, textile part.

Beyond the screen, still reading squares,
tile history, ceramic piece,
or letters, alphabetti seize.

Intriguing motifs, headline stuff,
to cap it all, consolidate
repurposed bits as galvanised.

Through eye to pinpoint travelogue,
flea markets through to online shop,
what meets that eye are coloured threads.

Yoruba for the carried weight,
divinities in India,
unseen and seen met native heads.

A head for heights, totemic feel,
do heaven, earth find unity
in Séverine’s material?
 
Stephen Kingsnorth
 
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales, UK, from ministry in the Methodist Church due to Parkinson’s Disease, has had pieces curated and published by on-line poetry sites, printed journals and anthologies, including The Ekphrastic Review. He has, like so many, been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. His blog is at https://poetrykingsnorth.wordpress.com
 
**
 
pitch

you can tear out the thread
that weds heaven to earth
 
& then swear on your spit
of this bead it will birth
 
& while you might speak of it
as air or as breath or as spirit
 
god holds the idea of death so high
even the dogs cannot hear it
 
Mark DeCarteret
 
**
 
Die Erde & Der Himmel
 
Smart of you, Gallardo,
to place heaven & earth
not in the hand & head of God
but of the human, and especially –
the woman, which even Zarathustra
missed in his superman gist!
 
You structured the heaven
as a high hoisted fist, though carrying it
for a lifetime, even if it’s only her mane,
defies any rational frame,
but that’s exactly why the creator
has given us imagination!
 
Only by invention she can harmonize
the intricate heavenly perfection
into such fair super bun
and place all the big and small crusades
into their right honorable places,
as light shines, flowers bloom, mountains green
creatures crawl and fly and sing. 
 
At the same time it’s upon
her practical arm to balance and conduct
all the earth’s super contrasts:
deluge and drought, kernel and darnel,
fresh and old, calm and storm  
to grab the best from each whim
and turn blossom into fruit,
only to then start again from seed;
as authors interchange poetry with prose
and, of course, turn the other way around
as by the season of their ideation bound;
yet always carrying the two tasks
with gravitas and grace, no matter
full face, profile or back –
it’s always a pure poise,
as Gallardo here shows!
 
You may correct me if it’s otherwise –
earth standing on her head,
and heaven hanging on her arm –
but, it’s, any way, an argument resolved –
‘on earth as it is in heaven’, as by the book.
 
But Gallardo’s present open book reading 
wouldn’t be complete
without reaching the mounting top
and spice Michelangelo’s gist – 
indeed, man was once inspirited by God,
but woman – second time by giving Birth –
here facing labor alone looking calm
as if it is a piece of birthday cake
her poise enhancing as we speak,
but if you stop…you will hear
her “thanks” to heaven and earth
for turning into wearable mode
as her natal dress code.
 
Ekaterina Dukas
 
Ekaterina Dukas writes poetry as a pilgrimage to the meaning and her poems have been honored often by TER. Her collection Ekphrasticon is published by Europe Edizioni.
 
**
 
What i was
 
i was an easter egg and my falcon, a trinity
In a history of eclipse i had my fibers combed into
thought stacks, smoking cones
years ago, riding horseback
i noticed my arm was pregnant with verse, time
and motion. A quisling child
betrayed me to my father, unseen
since the time of darkness. Silly
silly me. False deserts dressed in cacti
grew like mints in apocalypse, and i
turned away. i was the sea and shore, near Greece
overgrown with rosemary
weeping, in spite of blue
and green
and yellow
 
Feral Willcox
 
Feral Willcox is a poet and musician living in Truth or Consequences, NM. Her first full length poetry collection is forthcoming from Artemis Tales Press. Her work can be found in The Mackinaw, Rogue Agent, Nixes Mate, Per Contra, and elsewhere.
 
**
 
I Contain Multitudes
 
I contain multitudes
           Of virtue
           Of sin
 
I contain multitudes
           Of pleasure 
           Of pain
                      Of short sighs singing in the dark of night
                      Of persistent aches echoing in the marrow of my bones
 
I contain multitudes
           Of enigma
           Of clarity
 
I contain multitudes
            Of memory
            Of prophecy
                       Of toes-tangled-in-dew-drizzled-grass flickers and of arms-aloft-in-trees flashes
                       Of wet-astreaked-cheek assaults and of depressed-dirge-drumming-heart visions
 
I contain multitudes
           Of love
           Of hate
 
I contain multitudes
Of knowledge
Of the forgotten
           Of calculations and of dates and of trivial fact
           Of names and of faces and of important lessons
 
I contain multitudes
           Of sanity 
           Of craziness
 
I contain multitudes
           Of niceties
           Of aggressions
                      Of “please’s” and of “thank you’s” and of held doors and of smiles
                      Of “fuck you’s” and of “go to hell’s” and of punches and of glares
 
I contain multitudes
           Of defensiveness
           Of offensiveness
 
I contain multitudes
           Of order
           Of chaos
                      Of perfectly aligned books and of washed hands and of sanitized surfaces
                      Of randomly placed knick knacks and of dirty t-shirts and of disorganized closets
 
I contain multitudes
           Of forgiveness
           Of resentment
 
I contain multitudes
           Of joy
           Of sorrow
                      Of brilliant smiles and of sparkling laughter
                      Of poorly disguised frowns and of drip-drop-drip-drop-drip-dripping tears
 
I contain multitudes
           Of calm
           Of fury
 
I contain multitudes
           Of reality
           Of dreams
                      Of hard truths
                      Of wild desires
 
Indeed, I contain multitudes! Multitudes! Multitudes! Multitudes
           Of Heaven
                      and
           Of Earth!
 
Rose Menyon Heflin
 
Originally from rural, southern Kentucky, Rose Menyon Heflin is a poet, writer, and visual artist living in Wisconsin. Her award-winning poetry has been published over 250 times in outlets spanning five continents, and she has published memoir and flash fiction pieces. She has had a free verse poem choreographed and danced, an ekphrastic memoir piece featured in a museum art exhibit, and two haiku put into a gumball machine. Among other venues, her poetry has appeared in Deep South Magazine, The Ekphrastic Review, and San Antonio Review. An OCD sufferer since childhood, she strongly prefers hugging trees instead of people. 
 
**
 
Heaven and Earth
 
When the new Pope was chosen, I thought of the mitre 
he’d don, decorated with gold & gems, 
made of white linen or silk.
The right to wear the pointed cap belongs only to the pope,
cardinals & bishops — 
always men
who take their roles seriously,
incense wafting around robes
like the white smoke that emerged from Rome 
before we learned his name.
 
But what if holiness was less the terrain of pomp & gaudy display, 
instead accessible by donning a completely different 
head covering -– 
say, a felt stocking cap in the shape of a bouquet
woven by women,
displaying mountain, canopy & cloud 
as sun’s rays dance across 
snaking river bends, dense speckled soil 
teeming with flowers.
 
If only I could acknowledge the forest on my head & sleeve, parade 
a cape of bright colors for adoring fans smitten 
with natural beauty – 
sleepy orchids & lilac bends, waterfalls,
grassy peaks, blood red buds.
 
My elevated cap would depict the universe with yarn --
every item of worship that sustains me 
& makes the world bearable — clematis, 
bellflower, banyan tree, calla lily,
yarrow,
honey locust,
& the breath of the body, rising.
 
Susan Michele Coronel
 
Susan Michele Coronel lives in New York City. Her first full-length collection In the Needle, A Womanwon the 2024 Donna Wolf Palacio Poetry Prize, and is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press this July. A two-time Pushcart nominee, Susan Michele Coronel has had poems published in numerous journals including Mom Egg Review, Redivider, One Art, TAB Journal, and Spillway 29. In 2023, she won the Massachusetts Poetry Festival’s First Poem Award. Versions of her book were finalists for the 42 Miles Press Poetry Award (2023), the C&R Press Poetry Award (2023), and the Louise Bogan Award (2024). 
 
**
 
In the Spotlight
 
I’ll bloody knock ‘em dead with this,
not literally obviously
though I could hide a fair few things
up my sleeve if I wanted.
 
Red carpet gown, my arse.
They can’t upstage me. 
This, here, will be my centrepiece.
 
The second I walk in, they’ll be…
astounded.  Gobsmacked.  Wowed.
They just won’t know
where to put themselves.
 
I’m not trying to steal anyone’s limelight, mind,
cos mine was just a bit part, but still,
my character was key to the whole plot
and this is my moment too, damn it.
 
Forget muted tones, 
trailing skirts 
or artsy black,
give me all the colours!
Give me asymmetry! 
A forest on my head!
A village hanging off my arm!
Guaranteed no other bugger
will be wearing this.
 
Come on, Cannes Film Festival,
let’s have it, here I come.
Open the doors,
lock up your sons
and pass me a champagne flute, 
waiter, por favor.
 
I will say one thing though –
it’s a good job I’m right-handed.
 
Nina Nazir
 
Nina Nazir (she/her) is a British Pakistani poet, writer and artist based in Birmingham, UK. She has been widely published online and in print. She is also a Room 204 writing cohort with Writing West Midlands. You can usually find her with her nose in a book or on Instagram: @nina.s.nazir.  She blogs regularly at www.sunrarainz.wordpress.com
 
**
 
Weary Angel Cento 
 
Because women are required to carry enough things as it is, 
There’s little to bear but the things I bore.
I am tired of work, tired of building up
I take off my skin, hang it up,
There’s nothing to carry, and naught to add. 
 
Debbie Walker-Lass

Line 1) Alice Duer Miller “Why We Oppose Pockets For Women”
Lines 2 & 5) Dorothy Parker, “Ballade of Great Weariness”
Line 3) Fenton Johnson “Tired”
Line 4) Angela Jackson,  "Mules and Women"
  
Debbie Walker-Lass, (she/her) is a poet, collage artist, and writer living in Decatur, Georgia. Her work has appeared in, or soon will appear) in The Rockvale Review, Green Ink Poetry, The Ekphrastic Journal, Punk Monk, Poetry Quarterly, The Light Ekphrastic and The Niagara Poetry Journal, among others. She is an avid Tybee Island beachcomber and lover of all things nature. (Except Spiders, not yet.) She’s recently provided a rollicking poetry workshop for her local Dekalb County library.
 
**
 
Revival of the Fittest
 
After the collapse, The Revival commissioned The Gallardo to create biodegradable fabric; they were also entrusted with the development of a universal clothing system where everyone had access to clean, creative, and affordable apparel. Embellished with pearls, appliqué, and embroidery, the garments were unique and celebrated nature. Held in societal esteem, The Gallardo wore multicolored vestments. As if the living embodiment of sculpture, their winglike sleeves and soaring headdresses displayed land, sky, and ocean delights; offerings of reverence to Heaven and Earth, cacti, corals, and other organic shapes of ornamental needlework adorned the felted silk as a terrain of crocheted forms crowned the ceremonial raiment.
 
The Revival practiced the sociopolitical ideology of anti-consumerism. The new era protected the environment and prioritized contentment over materialism. The Gallardo were instrumental in the elimination of Fast Fashion, restored environmental balance by reducing landfills of textile waste.
 
After the collapse
revival of the fittest
Heaven and Earth thrive
 
Jeannie E. Roberts 
 
Jeannie E. Roberts is the author of nine books. Her latest full-length poetry collection is titled On a Clear Night, I Can Hear My Body Sing (Kelsay Books, 2025). Her work appears in various publications, including Anti-Heroin Chic, Blue Heron Review, The Ekphrastic Review, The New Verse News, ONE ART, The Orchards Poetry Journal, Panoply, The Poeming Pigeon, Presence, Quill and Parchment, Silver Birch Press, Sky Island Journal, Verse-Virtual, and elsewhere. She serves as a poetry editor for the online literary magazine Halfway Down the Stairs and is an Eric Hoffer and a two-time Best of the Net award nominee. 
 
**
 
Buffet of Daffodils
 
Aargh
my arm is a flower
I wished it to be
a bee
instead it's their
dinner table
well thanks for the honey
honey
 
Marc Brimble
 
**
 
Of Heaven and Earth
 
The creature slams into the door, its alien appendages puncturing the reinforced steel. I’ve thrown the bolt, but it won’t hold. No matter. Every three years this abomination comes for me with its fetid breath and flashing fangs. I’ve defeated this cosmic anomaly before, and I’ll beat it again tonight. I breathe deep and don my crown and armpiece and immediately feel the tingle as the warp and weft activate. Every thread glows with power. And even as the beast hurtles into the door again, I stand, now thrice as strong as any creature on Earth. A CRASH and the door bows inward. Let it come. I am ready, ready, ready.
 
Tracy Royce
 
Tracy Royce is a writer and poet whose words appear in / are forthcoming in Bending Genres, Does It Have Pockets?, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Scrawl Place, Villain Era, and elsewhere. She lives in Southern California where she enjoys hiking, playing board games, and obsessing over Richard Widmark movies. Find her on Bluesky.
 
**
 
The Lady of Two Lands
 
Roots and wings, these are the things
she dreams about at night, between
the unpaid bills and the unknown
bank accounts still — quite probably --
in her husband’s ex-wife’s name.
 
Shame is what she feels for thinking
such thoughts, even though the animal
night-brain has a mind of its own,
the train’s far-off whistle in the un-
seen distance.  But roots and wings. . .
 
The red-barked manzanita tree
grows disks taller than Nefertiti’s own
elongated trunk, sheltering the birds
that sing her name — Teeti, Teeti, Teeti!
Meanwhile, the red-leafed palm tree
 
becomes a lake of fire, violet irises
the size of trees become palms,
and water falls in a trickle, carving
its way through heavy stones that
weigh the wings of her better angel.
 
Or are they gray-grape wisterias
soft as summer in a strange and
mysterious land?  Epaulettes of islands
decorate her wings, also holding her
down.  Or shall we call it grounding?
 
The pink palace of her mind reaches
higher and higher with a lush green crown
and dark arched windows to home
those wild birds, portals for passage
to a secret realm.  Which song,
 
which clicking clock-like lock, which key
word will magically unlatch the door?
What’s more, what is the name, she wonders,
for such unspeakable resplendence?
And where is heaven, if not everywhere
 
around and inside you — in roots and wings?
 
Greta Ehrig
 
Greta Ehrig holds an MFA in Creative Writing from American University, where she was a Lannan Fellow and enjoyed editing (and finding art for) Folio literary journal. She also paints, sings, teaches, and holds BAs in Art and Psychology. Her writing has received support from the Maryland State Arts Council and the National League of American Pen Women. In 2024, she was nominated for Best of the Net and a Pushcart Prize in Poetry. Ekphrastic writing is her favourite kind.