Deltina Hay

hopping rocks

Deltina Hay — Thu, 14 Apr 2011 13:32:30 +0000

she glides over the rocky terrain
the chatter of gulls cheering her on
feathery shadows pass over her skin
a brush of reassurance
from her silent, ubiquitous guides

her bare feet land cautiously upon the rocks
rocks that harbor the cold bite of the sea
resisting the warmth of the morning sun
she knows they are kindred

her momentum builds
“one, two, three, four”
land lightly
she thinks
spring quickly
spend no more time in any one place than is necessary

she fills her lungs
with the smell of drying seaweed and jellyfish
exposed by the receding tide
watches ribbon worms and sand fleas scurry for cover
while young, downy gulls sit satiated

her feet numb from the cold
lend her speed
a pounding upon already battered flesh has little impact
“five, six, seven, eight”

she knows there is no time for fear
or distraction
“nine…”
the scabs on her knees attest to that
“when added to any number preserves the sum of its digits”

her feet burn as the sun forces them to life
feelings,
she thinks
prime example of the need for concentration
“one, two, three, five, seven”

she is always three rocks ahead
for knowing her place is imperative
“eleven, thirteen, seventeen”

calculating her place before she arrives
she will know just how long to stay
“nineteen, twenty-three…”
how badly it will sting when she gets there
“pairs of chromosomes in the human body”
and how swiftly to leave it behind

each leap must build off the strength of the last
to master complete control
she thinks
“one, one, two, three…”
she soars over the ragged coast
her feet barely touching the rocks
“five, eight, thirteen”

as she continues to gain speed
she spots her inevitable failure ahead
an unavoidable patch of algae covered rocks

“twenty-one, thirty-five, fifty-siiiiix…”
with a last minute twist
she kicks off the algae
and lands on a sandy patch of beach
the gulls scatter and curse her for interrupting their feast

perhaps a more even approach
will yield fewer bruises
she thinks
and starts again
“two, four, six…”

Nina

Deltina Hay — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 14:00:59 +0000

my skin
white and soft
as a sockeye’s belly
next to hers
calloused
from a love
put to
sealskin and sinew
that wrap my feet
in a warm
caressing
embrace

Super Moon Photos March 19 2011

Deltina Hay — Sun, 20 Mar 2011 05:03:23 +0000

March 19th Super Moon

St. Patrick’s Day Dream

Deltina Hay — Thu, 17 Mar 2011 23:57:24 +0000

2am
a sudden start
and an expectation of a midnight sun
more of a glow, really
raven has swallowed the sun
and all we can see seeps through his conniving lips

i scurry along the dock
dodging nets piled high or hung to air
stinking of seaweed and fish guts
the only sounds a lapping at the pilings
and the creaking of masts in the salt heavy breeze

a time of wonder for the girl
clapping under street lights
the language of bats
with stories of kusaxa kwaan
scaring her eventually to bed

but for the young woman i seek
this morning
this place
bruised
as she quietly
secretly
mourns
i am careful not to trip on the nets

my guilt holds this memory
how like a weathered knot
such shame can scar a soul

how i cried past my dangling legs
into the waves
the nets piled high at my back
that plane hitting the mountain
wondering whose face you saw last

this day resurrected each year
the stench of gill nets under a 2am sun
30 years fresh

Daffodils in the Rooms of God

Deltina Hay — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 18:48:40 +0000

and i have entered places
i now know are the rooms of God
wandered into them, unawares
the door slamming swiftly behind
as the brain adjusts
to comprehend such beauty
daisies, wild and sassy
smothering the banks of a rushing river
snowy white dogwoods
nestled in the dark of the rain forest
mounds of bluebells stark
against pink granite
rich and squishy bogs glowing
purple with iris and lupine
and speckled with black lilies
(well, not quite black
as close to black, i imagine,
as God cares to venture)
the singular daunting room of the darlingtonia
king cobra of the flora
and daffodils
o, daffodils
climbing over that knoll
and entering a room to which only God could have the key

Chaotic Organismic Self-Regulation

Deltina Hay — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 18:09:04 +0000

i think perhaps they reap
the words i speak to the darkness
those figures forming
in my empty fields

storing as records
to be searched
for just the right
initial value
to this
iterative
boundary valued
differential
life

that will calculate
them back
to that instant
that nanosecond
of knowing the truth
and forgetting it
just as quickly

sitting on Mandelbrot’s edge
strangely attracted
they will try again

Hands

Deltina Hay — Fri, 18 Feb 2011 15:16:24 +0000

I imagine she is holding your hand
at the side of your bed
where I cannot be
and I wonder

Does the weight of your hand
hold the same memories for her
as it would for me?
Calloused from working harder
than any woman should have to
Scarred by the memories
of restaurants long extinct
Stained from the fruits
of your labor
But remarkably soft now
from age
and the scent of baby lotion

I imagine you are holding her hand
lying peaceful in your bed
where I wish to be
and I wonder

What memories the weight of her hand
will hold for me?
Calloused from the work ethic
you taught her so well
Smoothed by the dawn
of an easier age
Folded in prayer
for the sake of us all
Soon to be softened
by age
and the scent of baby lotion

I imagine I am holding her hand
at the side of her bed
where I hope to be
and I wonder

Will the weight of my hand
hold the memories I imagine
he will have of me?
Calloused only at the tips
from pecking thoughts onto keys
Spared by the labor
of her hands and yours
Clenched in a battle
with the demon despair
Soft, perhaps someday
with age
and the scent of baby lotion

pitching fish

Deltina Hay — Fri, 04 Feb 2011 05:28:05 +0000

they bounced the pretty ones on their knees
but she was lanky
freckled
ratted hair
with bare feet
calloused and filthy
and she liked it that way
liked not to be noticed
alone in a world she made up as she went
hopping from rock to rock on the rugged shore

waves crashed and sprayed
sea water dries tight on your skin
she thinks
and jelly fish burn
and they reel in their nets in the distance
squeeze out the jelly fish with thick rubber gloves
sea water drying tight on the wooden decks

she reaches a sandy strip of beach
the sand, warm on her feet
slips between her toes
a old eagle eyes her from atop a piling
she smiles at him
and quickly looks away
whispers a greeting
(more of a hum)
she knows that to ignore him
is the best way to keep him close

the rhythmic moan of a Tender’s diesel engine draws near
it is time for them to pitch their fish
she climbs a piling to the top of a long ship dock
runs to the end for a better look
the hi-liners will pitch last
she thinks
they like to watch the others pitch
so they know how much they have beaten them
they will drift just out of line most of the morning
to gloat
she is pleased to see one of the old wooden boats
drifting alongside the usual decked out hi-liners this week

she sits at the end of the dock
and counts
they pitch in order of value
pinks first, followed by dogs
then silver or chum, depending on the season
but always the lovely Sockeye last
the prize of fish – even more than the King
rich, red, oily meat – perfect for smoking

the catch was not as good as last week’s
but good enough for them to be handing out
black cherry sodas and red licorice whips
and she won’t even have to sit on their knees to get some

Judgements

Deltina Hay — Fri, 04 Feb 2011 05:12:48 +0000

our judgments
are often timely
as though clinging
to that dusky moment of the day
when it seems impossible to discern
whether our own headlights are on
but glaringly obvious that everyone else’s are

Vulture in His Longhouse

Deltina Hay — Fri, 04 Feb 2011 04:58:18 +0000

vulture spreads his wings to the sun
in thanks for this day
for this day the earth was good to him
vulture in his long house
dancing the stories of yesterday
in the masks of men
drumming and chanting
of how man swallowed the sun
(and raven smiles)
how there is no more than this
more comes at too high a cost
(raven stole the sun playing on such faults of men)
vulture in his long house
dancing the stories of today
how he sat very still for the longest time near a man and did not scare it away