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CREATOR

Mel Waldman

Passing through the Waste Land, she stopped.
The landscape was vast, empty.
No one seemed to inhabit this place.
Yet a terrible sadness possessed her.

Where am I? She thought.
And she swallowed Loneliness, a swirling fog of despair,
There-where no one seemed to be.
Can’t you see?

And when the snow dropped from the Heavens, and the
Heavy rains followed,
She stood in the center of the storm,
Waiting.

Yet no one seemed to inhabit this place-
Deserted, silent/howling place,
Open space, private universe, inner space,
Of dreamlike introspection and floating desolation.

And she stood,
Where no one seemed to be. And
Waited.

(Each day, we rush through bleak streets. And forget.
Can’t bear to “see” them, or hear their subdued cacophony,
Everywhere, and nowhere, they exist.
Ensconced in the hidden landscape, a Ralph Ellison world filled with THE INVISIBLE.
There-and right here.)

Gripped by a force beyond and within,
She stood in the center of this storm.
And one by one, they appeared to her-
The forgotten, the invisible, the needy-a
Multitude of ghosts resurrected by her vision.

So it was!
And perhaps, at that poignant moment of anguished creation,
She too was reborn-the Creator.



Scars Publications


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