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As I sleep, come to me and
we’ll pretend everything, we’ll eat
mushrooms and fly, we’ll see winged horses,
ride them singing. Will you be open to me?
I want to be:
two streams flowing together
over a grassy plain, into one;
the happy grass, so green;
the rabbits leaping in the birches,
the honeysuckle and the rose,
the grey gull resting on the shore,
the sighing tides,
the trees like God’s legs,
tall, strong and dark,
the soft grey sky,
like a comfortable blanket.
Everything plays, naturally, today.
Joanna Wiebe, June 21, 1989
You’re always with me, night and day,
even when we’re in different houses
doing different things,
even when we think we’ve fallen apart,
shattered by our ignorance and poverty of spirit,
broken by each other and crying for
some other love than this difficult mating.
Fueled by light and power from
mysterious sources, driven by a need to
create something new: so new
we have only a faint image of what it is.
But that image shimmers before us and
behind us, pulling, pushing, adjusting nature
and events until we meet again, eye-to-eye.
My heart is new again,
tender, open strong.
My mind examines the attachment.
My soul prays for a clear view of
that bright thing that glistens all around us,
melting the frosty feelings, casting rainbows
over everything, making it known as sacred.
I take small steps into that light.
I feel the love, like God dreaming, making life.
Balanced, drawing on every source of
energy, breathing slowly for strength,
I touch you again.
Joanna Wiebe, November 15, 1988
…flying, I’m immune to poisons. Found
skulled bottles at mother’s cave and
devised cocktails.
I’ve scarcely had my feet on the ground
since dropped by this woman, my mother.
I’m in pain if I don’t follow custom, or
awkward desire, but I don’t see roses,
forget my name, it’s such a distinction.
…want to be a vacant blue like the edge of skim milk
in a cup without a saucer,
clean curve the memory of a handle,
balanced on the back of my hand,
“HOPE” spelled out on the china in gold letters
half washed away.
Joanna Wiebe, 1984





