Litany, and: The Sun Is our Ablest Meteorologist

Abstract

126 DEREK MONG LITANY after the Precatio Terrae To know what part’s raw merriment, what’s wrath released in season— your geysers skywrite, loop; a mud flow moves all but trunk and tree root. Gaia, Arbiter of the All Natural, we are indefatigable readers: a cirrus cloud is string to tease out storms; see stones in stream— we pray halfway through fording. Once I met a man. He sailed. Claimed hurricanes were coins you clicked across your knuckle bones or dropped if distracted. We gardeners aren’t so gullible. We’ve watched surf toss a cliff’s ledge like piecrust. At whim you’ll turn your insides out— your moods make 127 my other gods a hobby. One day I’ll relinquish weather signs and drift like pine needle within them. Imagine, myself inside both sea and sky, crashing the cheek of a slave girl. Diva, sweet Earth Queen— I am an herb gatherer in search of his fair allotment. Whatever I take from this forest floor I borrow. 128 THE SUN IS OUR ABLEST METEOROLOGIST after Giovanni Pontano For years I’ve lived my life like a sundial, watching as my shadow circles the town square. My feet hold tight to the gallows. My head leans against all your doors. Here’s what I’ve learned: If the noon sun dries the tide pools like broth pots then the south wind will misroute a river. Later, the marshes fill with saltwater fish. Or say light rays strafe us as if passed through high prison bars— turn then to your war wounds. Swollen toes point to downpours; the hollow socket you once saw from forebodes corn crops. They’ll sprout unremarked. For all who doubt me, remember the hailstorm. I foresaw that disaster from the belltower you turn to for prayer. That day the sun lurched drunkenly, masked though it was by darkening clouds. Time and again, a lone beam would drain DEREK MONG 129 the sky’s soup, touch this house, that one, before sealing back up. The penned sheep howled for mercy. That night I ate lamb. Likewise, the night after that. Later a green glow, like the downside of a top hat, hung where the sun crossed the bay. I am still building a theory for just what that means. ...