Article voiceover
Aurora
It was odd, standing near the river confluence on the side of a midwestern country road after driving for dark, neck wrenched back and eyes pointed toward brilliant stars, the same stars that hide above streetlamps in the city, but we drove for dark and dark we found, dark layered with crimson curtains that fate hung across the sky, rolling red waves of jeweled fabric torn apart from horizon to heaven by her hands revealing that you are the mother you thought you never had, and you drape blankets of ancient aurora around your children and into their ears you boldly whisper lyrics found in you, poems found in your ancestral mother sun.
Thank you for reading! What strikes you, speaks to you, or stirs in you while you read this piece? I look forward to whatever dialogue happens here, and as always, I will be following up with a Reflection essay on how this poem emerged into being.
Brian
Firstly, stunning photo.
Secondly, stunning lines. You captured this one quickly and profoundly.
These are especially stellar:
layered with crimson curtains
that fate hung across the sky,
rolling red waves of jeweled fabric torn apart
We didn't manage to drive out anywhere dark enough to see it by eye, although my phone camera could just about make it out. I hope there's another burst and I'll get to see it with the naked eye.
"we drove for dark and dark we found"
this line works on its own. a very different meaning ("darker," you could say) without the rest of the stanzas. strong, it tolls