Sandra Skipwith Bowen studied poetry with David Wevill and Daniel Stern, and her work appeared in Prairie Schooner and other national literary magazines.
For more information on her dozens of other poems, contact Stephanie Jones.
It Was An Ordinary Brook Miracle
(originally appeared in Prairie Schooner, Spring 2004, vol. 78, no. 1)
It was an ordinary brook miracle,
an amber colored pool,
that let in some light, not a lot.
It was an ordinary light, with ordinary
words and ordinary people, and ordinary
drawings.
It was an ordinary way of expecting so much,
and what was there was so ordinary
that I had to leave and return home
to my extraordinary
love.
An ordinary brook miracle
is one where a little water
looks really deep.
The Gold Table
(originally appeared in Prairie Schooner, Spring 2004, vol. 78, no. 1)
Go get on the table,
your first table and make it gold.
Mister Fox, she says,
You've come here to open up the door.
Her favorite word is love,
her favorite sound is springing.
The Bus Long Snake
They found a fossil of a snake as long as a
bus.
Don’t you wonder if Eve put her children on him,
to ride around
on.
Or maybe she charmed him into her,
telling him it was just for
fun,
just for the ride.
Just for the wisdom she gained of the
knowledge
of how it could be used,
for the ride of good and evil,
like
going to school,
having a teacher,
for the knowledge of good and
evil,
for the knowledge that men are not Gods.
Since then she knew the
power of love
to heal broken things
since then she knew the power of
cutting off the devil’s head
since then she knew the strength of pain
when
the bus long snake
came around to make love.
Sky Torn To Ribbons
When you tore the sky to ribbons
and left me
wanting to die
I began seeing ribbons in the sky
painting the sky as
shredded ribbons
looking out the window and saying "oh my god, the sky has
been torn to ribbons"
And then my bedroom was decorated, covered in
fabric with blue and white shreds
of ribbons, hanging from top to
bottom.
Draperies, my curtains were made of sky blue ribbons
torn to
shreds, fabric covering my headboard, sky torn to ribbons.
Last night, as
I continued to make a choice of crying or dying,
tearing the sky to ribbons
or turning the shreds to fuel
I began dancing to the words..."thought I heard
her calling my name, hush, hush....
sha na na na na na na na na, hush"
my
fuel turned to fury as i danced in a rage and began letting go of the sky torn
to ribbons
letting go of the sky still getting shredded
my wild dance of
joy began with hearing "hush, thought I heard her calling my name"
early in
the morning, early in the evening.
It ended, or began, with discarding
the sky torn to ribbons headboard
which supported my death like sleep, for
seven years,
my deep blue sadness,
my despair for for just seven out of
forty
my headboard of shredded blue ribbons lasted long enough to let me
rest
and begin to live, now.
