~ by Moniczka Kowalczyk-Kroll, (approx 2020)
Last night I took my chisel, fox bone fine
and chipped away at cobblestones,
freed the holloways of our dreaming
from their claggy coating of hot bitumen and
compact concrete blankets.
Ripped with scissors sharp as badgers teeth
the ribbons of hard roads corseting soft flesh,
and saw how the depressed and flattened swathes
of meadow grass, rising like dough,
with the sweet dank smell of a ponies flinching skin
released from the saddle,
found their true lintel of vast sky again;
each tussock again a hassock for my prayers.
The straitjacketed waterways and
panicked silted rivers I left to the ministries
of the beavers and their mosaic art -
and the moon found a million new homes to bathe in.
I dismantled bridges, made us crawl the sides of fallen trees
like slow beetles and remember holy longing,
I gouged out street lights like splinters from puckered flesh
And scribbled out the false punctuation of
Fences and gates and barbed wire,
angry slashes across our thought lines
So that the wild creatures could finish their perfect sentences on the land.
Tonight I go out again, with a screech owl claw needle,
there are frayed edges to be soldered,
a golden joinery.