For Heba

It used to be lavender was tint of spiritual color,

And poets wrote algorithms to versify love,

Gaza's poet Abu Nada, killed under bombardment,

        was deemed collateral fodder,

It used to be lavender was tint of spiritual color;

Now--nom de guerre--for AI killing machine,

        its swift lethality allures

Beautiful poet Heba Abu Nada reimagines

        nascent gardens from above,

It used to be lavender was tint of spiritual color,

And poets wrote algorithms to versify love

Laura Stickney 2024

Notes:

"Lavender" is the name of IDF 

Artificial Intelligence tracking machine

Heba Abu Nada was Palestinian poet

killed in Israeli airstrikes in Khan Yunis,

Southern Gaza, on October 20, 2023

nom de guerre--literally "name of war," 

referring to pseudonym used in war.

nascent-- means just coming into existence

This poem, "For Heba" is written in triolet

format, a French form invented by medieval

poets in the 13th century

photo of Heba Abu Nada, Literary Hub

 

Opal Hunting, 1967

Mom was my matrix,

And the two of us stood

Atop a rocky one--

Lamina of broken basalt,

Where we hunted for opals

Near Red Rock Canyon,

One blustery day--

I was good at spotting

Tiny opals scattered

Across abraded claim,

I'd pick rainbows

Out of dross,

While mom hunched

Over dark rubble,

And scrutinized

Encircling stones.

A cowboy on the heap,

Strode over

To my beautiful mother,

And tossed single scrap

Her way,

"Honey, try this one,"

He said. She tapped it

With small hammer

And crumbly matrix

Split, revealing opal

Concretion dazzling

With orange and rose

Fire.

"I'll give you 'hundred

Dollars for it," he offered,

While she refused

And pocketed her gem.

Mom wrapped opal

With oiled cotton gauze,

And stored it for years

In jewelry box--

I'd peer at find

From time to time;

The stone 

Never set,

Acquiring fractures,

Emoting auras

Laura Stickney 2024

Notes:

Mom and I visited Barnett 

Opal Mine, Red Rock Canyon.

It has been closed for years

and the road erased.

photo: fire opal from Red Rock

Canyon area by R. Lavinsky &

Mineral Auctions.com

 

For Corita Kent

What we share:

The feeling of movement in a studio

The knowledge of inks like elements

The vista of paper holding all the light

it will ever need

Your sacred texts culled

from the wrappings of bread

bright dots proclaim WONDER

You are like a shaman

balancing on rocks near waterfall

but here you poise

on street curb

span chapel and billboard

The dark window coalescing

'round your eyes

does not allow you respite

from your vision

More than streaks of color

pulled across page

you see

the tenderness of the world

how frayed it is everywhere

and past the exhausted surface

BEAUTY

Drenched letters in sequences

A red heart

You print LOVE a hundred times

I think it is easy

You print LOVE a million times

until I understand:

It is the only work

Laura Stickney 2024

Notes:

Corita Kent, also known as Sister 

Mary Corita Kent, 1918-1986, was an

American artist focusing on silkscreening,

watercolor and calligraphy. She was a 

social activist, educator, and progressive

thinker. For many years of her life she was

a member of the Sisters of the 

Immaculate Heart.

Laura Stickney, is an American artist and poet

focusing on printmaking, artist's books, drawing

and painting. She is a teaching artist.

photo--"Love Stamp" by Corita, 1985, USPS

Hiroshima Flash Burns

There's probably a knowledge

In old hira-nui embroidery

Of how tendrils once were,

Before the surety of growth

Was overtaken by darkness.

The leaves, sewn into fabric,

Would have been more beloved,

More proclaimed.

Look, the thermal burns

On her back,

Are residues of kimono pattern,

Snap-shot by the blast,

The cloth fallen away.

You can't out-run the sun,

Not even a gram of it.

Laura Stickney 2019

Notes:

photo by G. Kimura of S. Ushio, 

Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum

 

CT Scan of Poet

Hold your breath;  breathe,

Prompts piped through apparatus, sound:

Hold your breath;  breathe,

Expel a Buddha's refrain, wreathe

every head in blue-light surround:

All illumes as if on sparked ground,

Hold your breath;  breathe---

Laura Stickney 2024

notes:

This poem is a rondelet--

a 13th century French poetry form

CT scan-- computed tomography is an

imaging test that detects diseases

image from slideshare.net, K. Mahajan

 

Pilosaur Speak

Skull of massive, prehistoric sea predator, 

is discovered by scientists in the UK. USA Today

It wasn't a giant dragonfly

That pinpointed my cliff-side

Resting place,

But a small drone levitating

Off Dorset's crumbly beach,

Controlled by--what to me--

Looked like a wan appetizer.

As carnivore extreme,

I swam cretaceous seas,

Devoured ichthyosaurs,

Slurped coiled ammonites,

--now iridescent gems--

My 50 foot long carcass 

At last sank to ocean floor,

Then rose with sediments

That buckled toward

A fledgling North Star;

My skull became fossil

On chalk precipice,

Embedded as beacon

For all that changes

And all that remains.

What can I as a supreme 

Killing machine now tell you?

I could say that you don't matter,

But your curiosity does

I could say your strength is laughable,

But dooms the differently strengthened

I could say your clocks are pitiful;

Time is wind eroding and reveling

I lived prior to human noise,

But now, beyond my escarpment,

There is banging, clanging, pounding,

Ringing, wailing, scraping, tapping,

Tapping,

These sounds belong to you

Laura Stickney 2023

Notes:

Pliosaur-- a giant carnivorous 

marine reptile living 200-65.5 million 

years ago

cretaceous-- geologic time, 145 - 66 million years ago

ichthyosaurs-- large, extinct marine reptiles, 250-90 million years ago

ammonites-- group of extinct marine mollusc animals

photo-- recently discovered Pliosaur skull, excavated from the

cliffs of the Jurassic Coast, Dorset, England, daily mail.co,uk

 

Soul's Bay Second-Hand Shop, Texas 2023

Amidst

Embroidered hankies,

Silverplate cutlery,

And wood pull toys,

Customer finds empty

Compact disc case

With a single photo

Inside: an old black

And white Polaroid,

Its triangle tab intact,

Shows John F. Kennedy,

With First Lady Jacqueline,

And the Connallys, happy

In their limousine, waving

To well-wishers,

On image reverse,

11-22-63,

Written in lead.

Elsewhere in the thrift,

Are tilted lampshades,

Rows of dangling purses,

And bins of photographs:

Lost sons, wounded daughters,

How to reconcile shadows

Of the big and little?

But the little are never really small

My beautiful mother

Took a picture of Robert Kennedy

When he spoke at her campus

In May of '68.

She dreamt of him when he died,

Watched his spirit exit his body.

The next morning,

My parents argued while sitting

In our idling red Dodge, braked

At front of house.

Mom wept and wept

Recounting her dream,

While dad, gripping the wheel,

Proclaimed her insane.

A photo is meniscus of passage;

Fluid layer--watched,

Identified, fleeting--

The President's 

Midnight blue limo

Advanced very slow,

Until it accelerated

Shockingly,

Just past the Plaza.

Laura Stickney 2023

 

Notes:

photograph found at a Ferris, Texas thrift shop

in 2023, from WFAA and NYPOST.com

meniscus-- from physics, is a delicate, curved  

surface of liquid in a vial.