Member Poem

Ancestral Encounter

As the orchestra builds to its
first, mild crescendo, my eye
catches her profile and snags
on her hair, pillow of hair with
a fragrance of ashes and roses
that somehow reaches me from
where she listens, several seats
away, her hands folded on
the purse in her lap. What's in there?

Wild bird eggs?  Cockleshells and
periwinkles?  A tiger’s claw?
A serpent’s skin?  Because this is
she. Eve, if I ever saw her.
The womb of the race.  Pacha Mama.
Aphrodite. I sigh with joy,
glad to be close to Mom, finally,
after all these years. The music
gallops to its next, not so mild

crescendo. Cymbals clash. Notes careen
to the ceiling and carom away,
falling on us like shooting stars.
I lean forward in my pleasure.
So does she.  Our eyes meet:  a twinkle
jumps from her glance to mine,
another star in the bright shower, a
gleam in the crowded hall from
Eve, the mother of us all.