H
e a r t S o n s & H e a r t D a u g h t e r s of A l l e n G i n s
b e r g
N
a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 4 : A r c h i
v e s E d i t i o n
JANINE POMMY VEGA
Majik's
Mala
(for Harris Breiman)
Majik's mala
click clacking in a
quiet room
jerky moves of the
bone beads slipping
down the string
Places you wouldn't think pain knew about
open up, we are
re-instructed:
Mother Buddha's string of beads,
and a hopeful
puppet in her sixties
still on the lookout
for freedom
It may not come climbing mountains
as before, or
plumbing the depths
and positions of
sexual nature
It may not come running high speed
through the woods like
a dog in the summer hemlocks
May not come trekking out to find death
sitting alone
in infinitudes of
winter
But in slowly giving up, in the hand
unclenched
the personality
cooked like soup
inside the skull
Come all you who are hungry
Come and eat.
Too long fixed in place, the body
becomes an ironing
board,
a bicycle
standing against the wall,
it creaks into
use, the slow spokes,
screech of legs
propped up in the living room,
Locked in a photo frame one has time
to observe
mortality click clack
it is not
unhappy.
No fixed opinion
when fluid motion
is yanked away
it might just as
well be heads
as tails click
clack
these things do not
matter.
Freeze frame of Majik
Labdrom's mirror
the absurdity of
us marching dignified
to a graveyard
one step two step Oops!
off the curbstone,
down like a man in profile
The Punch and Judy Show
to a crowd of San
Francisco children
Wap! He's down! Wap! He's up again!
click clack click
clack clack
An umbrella
opens,
the taffeta hangs tattered
the spokes like a
ribcage sing
in the wind
Fluid moves so rare we notice now
when they come up,
like animated movies
Goofy drops his gumball down the sewer
Minnie holds onto her hat as she plunges
skyward
off the cliff like
a kite.
No references, no grave demeanor
considered opinions melt
in the soup bowl
of the skull,
click clack
Hey! Comes a moment, Hey!
No limping, no hunched shoulders, no
stiff elbows
a body is moving
easily over the landscape
Hey, what happened?
Majik Labdrom in meditation
her mala serenely
around her neck
each bead in
motion, in static grace
each bead in fluid
motion.
Majik Labdrom, pronounced ladrĂ³n,
like a Puerto Rican
second story man,
The nice thing about God as a thief
is she takes it
from you
willing or not,
knowing or not
she takes it, you
wake up one morning
and it's all
decided: mobility (or good looks
a perfect ass, a
capable memory)
has disappeared.
Coming out of sleep, the chrysalis
kicks off its
cocoon, the (choose one)
praying mantis katydid
grasshopper's
arms and legs are
littered across the plain
and works of art,
the diamond rings
are swimming down
in the muck with the snails.
Willow, NY,
January 13, 2005
Majik Labdron: Female
"Mother" Buddha. Inventor of the chod
ceremony,
she is often depicted
dancing, usually in a graveyard.
Mala: String of prayer
beads, worn around neck, or on wrist, or in hand.
Each bead can be used for a repetition of the mantra.
[Originally
published in NHS 2008, http://www.poetspath.com/napalm/nhs08/Janine_Pommy_Vega.htm.]