Poor Jesus-spirit, Look, they are still at it! VIII Where ever I turn the path is blocked – I had activated my activity To a burn out point And now is a rest time, A low pause point, A vacuum of purpose Of faith, Awaiting a new infilling This time I will not rush Gladly Daring my all ..”Once more into the breach, dear friends” – was Bill’s fondest quotation I weep – alone – for him, Because I am a rudderless sail boat, Drifting, Before repairsIn my former manner I would have gone to Africa To spend myself as a doctor on that Hungry catastropheBut is not the answer To modify the climate To re-establish East West flow And get the moisture in From the ocean With the cloudbuster? The discrepancies of my life Are too great for my Small human aging vehicle Of a bodyI find myself waiting(WR asked “for what-?”) For my next life! That’s what! Where things may be a bit Better! Yet, no longer with notions Of suicide, I have the patience to Wait it out, till my ending Which is sometimes, with curiosity, in my mind (“they also serve who only stand and wait” was my own favorite quotation) EndingsBalanced by beginnings Death recycled,The divine compost pile Of every forest littered floor… 14 Renata Reich Moise At the turn Of the pendulum’s swing Renata Reich Moise, granddaughter of Wilhelm Reich, was born in Hancock, Maine, USA in 1960, the only child of Eva Reich MD and the late artist, William Moise. In addition to being an artist, Renata obtained a Masters of Sciences in Nurse Midwifery from the University of Pennsylvania in 1994. She lives in Maine, and currently practices in a group of four Nurse Midwives who deliver babies at the local hospital. Her husband, Antonio Blasi, is a Modern Jazz Saxophonist, as well as a sea kayak guide. Her son, Christopher Ross, age 24, leads the band Stiff Whisker. This writing soothes That growing spot of pain, I’ve carried from my childhood, That melancholy Yearning painConnects me to the Russians. Oh how I loved them When I woke from dream the other morning– 11 April 1985 Morning silence Still below freezing Yet promise of spring In greening of grass And a chickadee’s chirp There comes a pause At the turn of direction Of the pendulum’s swing I have slept deeply – And woke without depression When Eva lay dying in her bedroom, and I, with friends and family, sat near, wrung through and through with the deep rattle of her breath and my own grim strong duty, at that very time, torn between vigil and action, on the second, or maybe the third day of her extended death, I found this writing, or it found me. Profile of the author
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