Palettal Prose: Wise Woman’s Friend Gets Interviewed About How the Power Begins

sure she’s a little

different always was

the smallest kid in her class

looks into things

the way a needle slides

clean through scarlet silk

climbed a roof once

where the stars shot gold

into her sixteen years

I’ve heard her sing

on a stage with no one

able to reach her voice

she’s pepper on bread

she’s rain in December

she’s hair that curls beyond curl

catch her dancing

some silent Sunday:

she’ll spin your blood to joy

~Katharyn Howd Machan, We’Moon

Beautiful sensual women with white horse

Beautiful sensual women with white horse

Palettal Prose: Black Swan Flight

I couldn’t find the actual title of this piece…

We are black swans

the women who swim.

Who fly at night.

Our golden feet touch

quiet water, skim

shining surface, plunge deep

to make currents in dark weeds.

We come and go.

We know each other’s

names, each other’s dreams;

we dream each other.

Dream the fight

past ragged moon,

past singing stars,

and it comes true.

Dream the telling,

the shapes of rain

and frogs and light,

and it comes true.

We are the wings.

We reach for wind

and make it ours;

we become the wind.

Our words are swan words,

black and full.

We go distances,

return, endure.

-Katharyn Howd Machan 1982

Black Swan