“Hymn”, “Feathers”, “Lineage”
by Rikki Santer

Hymn

             Thirsty for a
Pleistoncene morning,
              I’m a graying creature
trotting in & out of shadows.

                      I rest deep
                                  in the dark belly
                      of my backyard ravine.
                              Needy seeds float

             in the chilled mist,
my low howl stirs
             the sternum,
my ears swivel

                      for footsteps—
                                  wild crones who live
                      at the end of time, carry
                                  lupine bundles for healing,

             & not afraid to bite back.
Wolf birds pick
             at the bones
of my story,

                      death is our living,
                                  to love sky & creek
                      so much sometimes
                                  I cannot bear it.

             To track & run,
summon & repel
             prepare to find
my luminous pack

                      & fetch
                                  the feeder root
                      with the sponges
                                  of my worn paws.

Feathers

I’m riddled with pinions.
Some mornings I feel your ghost
heartbeat, tiny bird deep
inside my body—
you parachuted
when the storm
of my mother’s sudden
death made landfall. I collect
plumes from passing vultures
their mythology ignores me
but I am tethered
to their hunger for the dead.
I never named you
but I knew your way
the fractal life for the brother
you left behind
the one who discards me.

Half leaves, half sails
bouquets of sluffed feathers
on my nightstand
my porch
totems on my window sills
dormant quills
to right my sorrow
with the smallest of filaments
held together
by microscopic hooks.

Lineage

This first story
this chin of fire

the Sun and her
daughters, primordial

mirror. These threads
bear the needle’s prayer

fired through the eyes
of every woman’s

weaving. Ocher
medallion looms

large, echoes
each genius

that crushed
then transformed

mineral, insect,
and shellfish.

The aproned goddess
returns, fondles

the crosspoints where
the warp and the weft

join to reclaim the shards
of an ocean’s turquoise

and the flames of a Phoenix
that shudder and spar.

This quilt, poised and
illuminated, greets

another resurrection
in the politics of textile.