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mine is

poetry

Mine Is.

August 14, 2013

I haven’t written a poem in years. Years. This morning I did. Rusty, sure. But I wrote. I am writing.

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning. ~Cat Stevens. Morning Has Broken.
Mine Is by Jen Pastiloff

Mine is the father, gone too soon,
spotted in Badlands.
Mine is The Mako Sica.
Mine is the land bad.
Mine is the sky breaking
Rivaled only by the sea,
mine is the sea rising,
Mine is the land empty, mine is the land good.

Mine is the land full
and the faces,

mine are the faces,
searching the sky and the sea and the land
for what is theirs.
Mine is the father in his bed, mine is the heart.
Mine is the heart breaking
Rivaled only by itself.
Mine is the self,
all spires and ridges and inside spikes.
Mine are the spikes that run through the life
Rivaled only by those that run through the heart.
Mine is the heart

Mine is the breaking

Breaking, the offering.
In that, that is is mine.

Mine is the word and the word was made here.
Here is what’s mine, mine the page,
The page is what’s mine.
Rivaled only by time.
Time is what’s mine, bereft and impossible
Sliding on and up, backwards some days.
Time is the eagle and also the hawk
looking over its shoulder, time is the prey.
What’s mine is to pray unnameable things,

death and sorrow, those are also mine.
Mine is a crow, a life, in between.

This is what’s mine:
Nothing, the father, the sky,
The sea and also the page,
The word and the face and the heart
And also the land,

Mine is the self.
Mine is the here.
Rivaled only by time.

~~~

I wrote it this morning after my 7 am class where I played this song xx jen