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Saturday, August 04, 2007

The Transmigration of Dream Into Salad

My heart, queen of the beehive and the barnyard,
little leopard of the string and the onions,
I love to watch your miniature empire
sparkle: your weapons of wax and wine and oil, garlic, and the soil that opens for your hands,
the blue material that ignites in your hands,
the transmigration of dream into salad,
the snake rolled up in the garden hose.

You with your sickle that lifts the perfumes,
you with the bossy soapsuds,
you climbing my crazy ladders and stairs.
You taking charge: even my handwriting, its characteristics,
even the grains of sand in my notebooks - finding in those pages
lost syllables that were searching for your mouth.
Sonnet XXXVI

5 comments:

Jan said...

Beautiful! Lovely words, pictures, thoughts. Thank you.

podcastin cyndi said...

Oh my.....I just discovered your blog, and this little podcaster from the prairie in Oklahoma is totally swept away to another time and space. Beautiful pics and thought!

Amalee Issa said...

How lovely, thank you both Jan and Cyndi for your comments. I just love Pablo Neruda, and think his Sonnets to be the most tender and descriptive love songs between husband and wife. And the Song of Songs, of course.

April said...

Just beautiful, Amalee. And yummy.

John Eaton said...

Rumi, Neruda, Song of Songs, and the flavors of these gardens.

Even D.H. would smile,

John :)