Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Cinquain of Choice


Johannes Vermeer's Christ in the House of Martha and Mary

Her Choice

fretted over
boiled lamb and stuffed olives,
fumed and muttered while doling bowls
of stew,

that Mary sat
and did nothing to help,
unable to understand how

hands could
please Jesus when
so much depended  on
a table filled with bread and wine
for him.

© Doraine Bennett

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Corps of Cinquains 5

The Great Falls in Montana. National Park Service photo, courtesy of the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial National Historic Site.

Great Falls

I wished
for the pencil
of masters, that I might
depict the infinite beauty--
these falls.

© Doraine Bennett

Monday, April 21, 2014

Corps of Cinquains 4

Photo from Floyd River Wildlife Complex.

Floyd's River

Floyd's body on
the bluff. Gave the river
his name. Returned to our boats and
pressed on.

© Doraine Bennett

Sunday, April 20, 2014

Allelulia! He Is Risen!

by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

My mother woke us that Sunday – her voice

a bell proclaiming spring. We rose

diving into our clothes, newly bought.

We took turns standing before mirrors,

combing, staring at our new selves.

Sinless from forty days of desert,

sinless from good confessions, we

drove to church in a red pickup, bright

and red and waxed for the special

occasion. Clean, polished as apples,

the yellow-dressed girls in front

with Mom and Dad; the boys in back,

our hair blowing free in the warming

wind. Winter gone away. At Mass,

the choir singing loud: ragged

notes from ragged angel’s voices;

ancient hymns sung in crooked Latin.

The priest, white robed, raised his palms

toward God, opened his mouth in awe:

“Alleluia!” The unspoken word of Lent

let loose in flight. Alleluia and incense

rising, my mother wiping her tears

from words she’d heard; my brother and I

whispering names of statues lining

the walls of the church. Bells ringing,

Mass ending, we running to the truck,

shiny as shoes going dancing. Dad

driving us to see my grandmother. There,

at her house, I asked about the new word

I’d heard: resurrection. “Death,

death,” she said, her hands moving downward,

“the cross – that is death.” And then she

laughed: “The dead will rise.” Her upturned

palms moved skyward as she spoke. “The dead

will rise.” She moved her hands toward me,

wrapped my face with touches, and

laughed again. The dead will rise.

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Corps of Cinquains 3

bodmer's view of blackbird's grave

Black Bird's Grave

Made land
at Black Bird's grave, 
chief slain with four hundred 
of his Omaha nation by

the hill we watch
the river meander
for miles, distance itself from
such sorrow. 

© Doraine Bennett

Friday, April 18, 2014

Good Friday Cinquain

File:Easter service in the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour in Moscow, Russia, 2013-05-05 (07).jpeg

A Good Friday

the Old Rugged
Cross, sitting with Daddy
on the second pew, I'd light my

with his
flame, smile into
his large, brown eyes, not yet
knowing how much resurrection
would mean.

© Doraine Bennett

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Corps of Cinquains 2

White Pirogue on the way to Omaha
Lewis and Clark reenactors on the way to Omaha. Photo from Lewis and Clark Boat House and Nature Center.

The White Pirogue

What new
comes, what evil genie
sails with the white pirogue on this

© Doraine Bennett