Poetry: In the Midnight Garden – The Power of Dreams

Macha the Crow Goddess – from a collage by Hollye B. Green

 

One August night three years ago, I woke up blind sobbing.  I could not snap myself awake because this dream held on to me.
I dreamed of the man I love being called by Death.
Death is not a stranger to me.  My grandparents, parents – all no longer in this life. It is an honor to be truly present when someone passes.  I was there for my maternal grandparents and my mother. I held my grandfather’s small, blue hand and felt all of his memories pass through him; his life in rural Kentucky as a child, his mother’s face, his dogs, his children when they were small, his continued strength and determination and I knew firsthand the blessing it left on me.
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T-shirt design by Daz L’asrtist
Aside from my wonderful son, I have no immediate family. I have built one with friends and specifically with this man. This man who is fearless and kind and creative and magic and steady and real.
So when she came to collect, in this dream, in her guise – I made a deal.
Please enjoy the poem below:
In The Midnight Garden
 
She stole in through indigo bough under the weight and glory of
a full, gold moon
A ghost of a girl moving like breeze through gaudy forsythia
 
Her limbs birch white and eye pale grey blue like the pulsing
vein of a wild dove
 
Her ebon hair whipping savage and smile curving down
She sang her rain crow song, weaving through phantom
wisteria
 
She called to me with a lover’s voice by my secret name and
brought me out under the darkling stars
“I know you by your eye and your song.” She croaked softly
and offered me her cold hand as if gifting me a lily.
 
Her cool breath stole across my shoulders and slowed my blood. The
Death crow had coming to steal away my love.
Steal him from his life and waken in him another. A birth into
fretless abyss and humming oblivion.
 
To waken in me endless
empty hours and stillness without peace,
To tear him from his life and so from mine.
 
“How will you keep him with flesh that alters and weakens?
 
How will he love the finite and imperfect? When art and beauty
are timeless?
 
How can he stay with you? When I am Evolution and Omega.”
 
“I know you by your cold and illusion.” I sang softly and placed
my warming hand on her icy brow as if feeling a child’s face
for fever.
 
She wavered a bit but stood frozen, defiant. The Death crow demanded her treasure.
 
 
“I know you will take him. Into the desert darkness
where life is only a covetous idea.
 
I know he will love the journey and waken from the dream of
this life.And you may have him when my heart stops and me
too for the bargain.
 
But first listen…”
 
She smiled a curving downward crescent and let her head fall to
one side.
 
Her raven mane falling over the shifting planes of her
silver face altering into pain.
 
She heard
 
Loud and hard and hot and fierce the insistent beating of my heart.
 
The Death crow’s eyes grew wide as the moon. “I’ll be back.”
 
I smiled. “Take your time. We will be a while yet.”

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