THE MASON PARTY
http://www.maverickmagazine.com/articles/174/1/----THE-MASON-PARTY/Page1.html
Eva Skrande
Eva Skrande was born in Havana, Cuba and grew up in Miami. She earned a B.A. from Sarah Lawrence College, an M.F.A. from Iowa, and is currently finishing a Ph.D. in Creative Writing at the University of Houston. Her poems have appeared in the American Poetry Review, American Voice, Iowa Review, Ploughshares, and the Alaska Quarterly, among others. Her chapbook, the Gates of the Somnambulist was published by Jeanne Duval EditionsBy Eva Skrande
Published on 05/3/2002
The river mason was there.
The woman who had built a heart
with no bitter lemons was there too.
So was the horse that had built the town
The woman who had built a heart
with no bitter lemons was there too.
So was the horse that had built the town
The river mason was there.
The woman who had built a heart
with no bitter lemons was there too.
So was the horse that had built the town
where the women have mountains for souls.
The maker of wolves,
the one who had made it possible
for them to mate with the river, was there.
The birds brought a few nests
where the oxen and tide could mate,
confusing the moon. The harbor came,
who built the voices of anchors.
The seamstress who dresses the echoes
with nothing to wear
arrived behind the ploughman
who revives the fields of fire
on the tongues of the pomegranates.
The mason of love was there too--
the one who loves with the horse's fury--
the one whose mane falls gently
over the bruised lips of a warring earth.
Copyright © Eva Skrande, 2002. All Rights Reserved
The woman who had built a heart
with no bitter lemons was there too.
So was the horse that had built the town
where the women have mountains for souls.
The maker of wolves,
the one who had made it possible
for them to mate with the river, was there.
The birds brought a few nests
where the oxen and tide could mate,
confusing the moon. The harbor came,
who built the voices of anchors.
The seamstress who dresses the echoes
with nothing to wear
arrived behind the ploughman
who revives the fields of fire
on the tongues of the pomegranates.
The mason of love was there too--
the one who loves with the horse's fury--
the one whose mane falls gently
over the bruised lips of a warring earth.
Copyright © Eva Skrande, 2002. All Rights Reserved