Nina Lois Turtledove

The Calling

Steam from the coffee
Permeated our nostrils
An oboe carried a raw melody in
through an open window
The lace curtains waved
in an afternoon breeze
Drawing attention away from paintings
dotting shadowed walls
To a point suspended somewhere in the air.
The perfect scene of a film
My cousin and I agreed,

So, Do you have a man?
My momma’s mom asked me
Bent from the wait of her years
Even though I sat
I looked up to talk to her.
She looked up at me
Gazing through my momma’s eyes.
I answered as though speaking from my momma’s soul
She could never stand still in all her life
Nor did her eyes ever look so worried.

Yes.

And what do you want to do?
Write books, enjoy films from the hearts of beautiful foreign places
That would make it hard to raise a family.
It would.
But I could only be faithful
To the lover that is Art.
One must find the quiet of the soul
Hear the tiny voice of the Calling
Which gets louder
when the exclamation is
Love!

Money is cold
and lifeless.
A barbed wire barrier
to that which is most meaningful.
Those who lust after money
and claw after power
Stuff a rag into the mouth of that
tiny voice
Which offered purpose for their life.

Living is an Art.
The job of the artist is
to show us what humanity is.
Essence of expression
From the interior of the Soul
Convey the abstractions of the realm
Flitter out of the cuccoon
Transmute metal into gold.

II.

The president should be a philosopher?
As the conquistadors
Explored the world
They exploited the Indians for earthly treasures.
Burned, destroyed, and slaughtered.
The ruler philosopher whispers
Explore your Selves
it is not a voice
which is the calling

Creative Writing, Prose | 21.10.2009 20:26 | No Comments