Dancing Buttercups


Artist credit: Annelea

The world is beginning to dream again and so are we. I see strength returning to Tracy’s spirit, and it does my heart good. She was able to use her walker to walk to the sink, sit down and wash up her face and arms in the sink today. A milestone!

She said it felt so good. She changed into a personal nightgown and felt like a whole new person.

We are hoping to get her into in patient rehab on Monday but it is pending insurance approval. You know how it is…

It is not good enough that doctors, nurses, and Physical and Occupational therapists recommend it. No, the insurance company, not her personal medical team, must approve it first. Please pray with us she can go.

On another note, my dear friend Annelea has launched her website. Trust me, you want to click that hyperlink and check it out; she is a gifted artist.

I am honored to continue a collaborative process Annelea and I began several years ago. I write—she paints.

This poem is the second in our most recent collaboration. I am writing poetry for the paintings on her website.

After this year of pandemic and quarantine and staying home, I am ready for dancing buttercups on a far away shoreline. I hope you are swept away with joy and hope and dreams of summer.

Buttercup Dreams

I slept
in a field
of buttercups

by the Cape
where salty air

and shipwrecks
drift together
near the rocks

with orange-tip
butterflies nestled

finally free
once again
to dream

shall I
bear the joy

of living again
in this glorious
invincible summer?

—a draft of Carla Jeanne Picklo Jordan

NaPoWriMo 2021 Day 18

Our Massai Warrior Guide during our time on safari in Kenya.

The poetry prompt for today challenged me to write a poem based on the title of one of the chapters from Susan G. Wooldridge’s Poemcrazy: Freeing Your Life with Words. I found the book’s  table of contents from the groovy “Look Inside” feature of Amazon.

Immediately the chapter entitled “naming wild hippo” caught my eye. A memory of standing of the banks of the Mara river during the season of The Great Migration in the Massai Mara. With our Massai guide, we stood high above the river where submerged hippos wallowed in the cool muddy water. We had to be absolutely quiet so as not to seem a threat to the territorial hippo.

We learned that hippos can stay completely submerged for thirty minutes. Only small bubbles on the surface tell the story of who is beneath the surface.

Somehow I wanted to bring that moment in my poem, and I wanted to use some Massai words to honor the Massai warrior guide who taught us so much during our time with him. After a little research, I chose the words: God, Massai, and thank you. The words in italics are Massai words with the definition immediately following in English.

naming wild hippo

naamoni aiyai
the she to whom I pray;
you who stirs the sky,
scatters the stars chasing

cobwebs into corners.
you who named wild hippos,
submerged nostrils lurking
in murky water whirling—

a vortex of violence.
how will i know the wily
slip spinning bubbles beneath
the smooth surface belie

the danger? you stand like
a bulwark, the bastion
of defense for our earthwork.
we are massai—the work of god.

ashe. thank you.

--a draft poem by Carla Jeanne Picklo Jordan

Let me know what you think in the comments below. Share the love, write a poem, appreciate a good friend. Each moment is a new beginning.