Laura M Kaminski – A la carte

A la carte

Mozart’s first two sonatas were French, he got his public start in France,
and went on to play for King George the Third after his depart from France.

Charles Darwin married Emma, daughter of the second Josiah
Wedgwood. Emma studied piano with Chopin, not Mozart, in France.

Philosophy of an evolutionary type, beyond a doubt,
began with I think, therefore I am, certainty of Descartes in France.

In seventeen ninety-four, the French abolished slavery in San
Domingue. And then, Haiti fought to stay free from Bonaparte, of France.

In Holland the Groene Hart’s surrounded by the ring of Randstad cities.
The wild beauty of the Auvergne calls wanderers to the green heart of France.

Even though she landed in Ireland instead of Paris, there was
a Cross of the Knight of the Legion of Honor for Earhart from France.

When we part we say God speed, go with God, God willing we’ll meet again;
in Spain, separate with Vaya con Dios, Adieu to part in France.

Tony left his heart in San Francisco. Harry’s heart was down, he’d
left a little girl in Kingston town. Halima left her heart in France.

 

Laura M Kaminski (Halima Ayuba) grew up in northern Nigeria, went to school in New Orleans, and currently lives in rural Missouri. More information about her poetry is available at https://arkofidentity.wordpress.com/about/ This poem will appear in her forthcoming chapbook, 19 Ghazal Street.

Advertisements

Laura Kaminski – Breaking Bread

Breaking Bread

for Christopher T George, after “All That Glitters”

All night, the surface of the earth’s been
hidden beneath snow-floured cloth of linen —
now the sun peeks above the bread-pan rim

of the horizon, ready to slide into the oven
on a cold December day. I want to warn it:
the oven isn’t ready, everything is gray,

better to wait, you’ll never bake —
but a hope for sunlight doesn’t take advice,
there’s no reason to waste breath on warnings,

better to listen for the bell for Matins —
it will ring faint and late today, its call
to chorus and communion muffled by the snow.

I’d like my feet to answer that cold iron cry,
bundle in a parka that saw its first winter
in Europe, 1942. I’d like to join the faithful

ones who gather there in sanctuary, sit in
back, listen to their voices warming, hear
the scratchy grackles becoming golden larks.

I wish there was a seat above the chancel
where I could stow away, let the reverberations
of the organ fashioned in some other century

tumble through me, heat my cells. I’d like
to peek, hidden and unseen, between the rails,
watch the faithful queue up for communion,

kneel for the sacrament, see the emissary
place small disks of unbaked sun between
their lips, hear the whispered blessings.

Cold stained glass held by lead threads will
light then, the sun will find its own way in,
touch upturned faces with its grace-hued hands.

My friend, my friend, it’s winter, it’s the time
of all things ending, the time it’s always darkest —
and the time we most remember all those who’ve

gone before. Tonight when you sing “Auld Lang
Syne,” remember this acquaintance. I will not
wait till Evensong. I’ll pray for you at Matins.

 

Laura M Kaminski grew up in Nigeria, went to school in New Orleans, and currently lives with her husband in rural Missouri. She is an associate editor at Right Hand Pointing; more about her poetry can be found at The Ark of Identity

 

Laura Kaminski – Babysitting the Next Dalai Lama

Babysitting the Next Dalai Lama

for Kathryn Gessner

They said he said the next
Dalai Lama might be found
outside Tibet —
can you imagine
what it might be like
to babysit?
Not the actual infant,
but before,
for just a day
to harbor
just a spirit, such a spirit,
before it’s joined
to form?
Practising today,
I pretend the child
is at play,
sitting on a small mat
in a chamber
of my heart.
I move through
my work attentively —
I want to nurture
honestly and not deceive,
and so I breathe
more consciously and deeply,
be open to the joy
in every fold of laundry,
let my hands find
loving-kindness
in each pocket
that I turn.

 
Laura M Kaminski grew up in Nigeria, went to school in New Orleans, and currently lives with her husband in rural Missouri. She is an associate editor at Right Hand Pointing; more about her poetry can be found at The Ark of Identity