Nara Park-Smith
“For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.” - Judy Garland
Nara and Her Mother
When comes Autumn and better elements turn a pretty rebuttal
Nonchalant in the sunshine and the in-between droplets on window sills
There’s a light none considerate of the dark yet equal to all measures in breath and joy
When sitting warm with her Mother
Nara yawns a smile and in the arms of her melody is whole-hearted still
When comes Winter tutelage and the festive riots turn rapid both low and merry
Earnest and sleepy in a throw of linens drawing dreams upon the communal hearth
There’s a girl who writes sonnets that are heard in her own way and the only way quiet does
When sitting warm with her Mother
Nara yawns a smile and in the arms of her melody is whole-hearted still
When comes Spring and Grandfather Tree spills his incubated barefaced secrets
Free to dream and so it would seem, so falls all the new ghosts upon the wafting breeze
There’s a spirit too who takes a turn about the room, mewing as she would and so she does
When sitting warm with her Mother
Nara yawns a smile and in the arms of her melody is whole-hearted still
When comes Summer and Heaven has decided to call there will be no spirit broken
***
And she is there
Even in the space that is crookedly absent, knowingly absent, absent of its very own space-
In its gravity her Mother’s silent honeyed light has not elapsed
For on the edge of every universal door ajar, the keen starry-eyed traveler rises and ahead sprints-
And she is there
When sitting warm with her Mother
Nara yawns a smile and in the arms of her melody is whole-hearted still
As in the pioneered saddle of every surveyor who vanquished the dusk
Unabashed and unafraid, for her it will be Summer ever more
Written by Jason Douglas Smith
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Merry Christmas with Fondness of Memory and Love,
Jason xoxo - December 25th 2018
