|From and About Rain Psalm|
|"Victoria Ford's poems are at once modest and courageous, cut clean and sure without malice or intrusive ego. I welcome her poems like a good neighbor."|
|"In the poems in Rain Psalm, Victoria Ford brings her eye and ear and heart to all inhabitants of the land-human and flora and fauna…. Her poems of the earth are generous in both their observation and their reverence."
EVERY SPRING, IN CHICAGO the fog rises at night from the lake, and it clouds the towers, the centers of concrete and glass, and in the morning migrating sparrows, robins, and thrushes lie like raindrops on the streets; other birds follow lights of the buildings around and around like moths all night, working the air, until breast and wing sink into mist; but some managers turn off the top lights of their sky- scrapers, and when the night clears to a star, the birds slip through the open doors of the dark.
WHALES AND THE ICE Barrow, Alaska October, 1988 Into the air, three heads rise like a sigh, gray and barnacled and bloody, trading skin with the ice and testing dreams. They nose from hole to breathing hole, following the incisions of men, who rest their chain saws and reach out with fur-covered hands to touch a weathered head as though it were a rose. A whale dies in the first freeze as easily as a flower. A hundred years ago we killed enough of the California grays to put them out of bloom; now with these two before us full of oil and meat, we grasp mittens and hope instead of harpoons, and somewhere in the depths of light and hunger, we breathe more than assume another's dream, as it bubbles to the surface, breaching, shooting irises into the air.
LEAF, FALLING on a wisp, drifts as air conducts lobe, vein, and the temperature of ready; it fades into others on rooftops, cars, concrete, gutters; sky lifts, breathes them beyond the last crumble of stem and skin, throbbing as atoms, converts to air that make it possible to know immortality passing through our lungs.
Copyright © 1996 by Victoria Ford
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