I have no patience with modern poets, and I’ve pretty much lost patience with Brownstone Institute. They have a few good writers but their overall goal is compromised. Exception to both rules!
Brownstone pointed to a new book of poems by Gracia Grindal. The samples sold the book. I bought the physical book and started reading. The book is a slim paperback published by a small outfit, Finishing Line Press.
Grindal turns the “virus” monstrosity into a metaphor for the Fall in Eden. The book is a series of prayers to Eve, asking for deliverance from the serpents who muzzled us.
Poem 3 rings my resonance in a particular way.
= = = = = START QUOTE:
Singing comes first, a baby humming along
Before sound breaks like waves into words.
Hearing her mother’s music: her baby’s song
Beats in the cells where its rhythms can be heard;
Marking the measures in her mother’s breast.
Catches of melodies she sings alone
While frying eggs after a night of rest.
Choruses of psalms in waking bones
Make concerts in our bodies yearning for choirs.
Echoing together in one voice to sing praise
To one who traced auricles of sound in us, desires
For harmony. Listen! The virus says
Silence, stopping the music. Dear Mother Eve,
Teach us again melodies we can believe.
= = = = = END QUOTE.
Every word is scientifically accurate and spiritually healing.
She frequently mentions the serpent muzzles:
Teach us to read, freed of our eyeless masks,
Aspects of features in a dimple’s dance.
The entire horror is there in two lines.
Polistra's Mill 