I couldn't wait for Tuesday--so this is a Friday poem. I'm so happy that folks can still read my work--let's cross our fingers that Blogger will let people know when there's been a new post!!
I close my eyes and wait. The words enter my body, golden as chessman
carved of flame that take their places on my black-and-white board.
I play against myself, but the figures seem to be engaged in a contest far older
than the Game of Kings. They obey other rules, as from an eerie dream.
The bishops, rooks and knights don’t keep their shapes. They turn into
falcons, Furies, gypsies, maids, Poseidon’s dolphins, panthers, kites.
I have to work to keep them tethered. I’m never given to know tactics, tricks
or strategies, only recognizing the finish when the fiery pieces cover the page
in a pleasing pattern, the figures of speech laying claim to their spaces. If
there are no moves left, I lay down my pen. That is how the Queen wins.