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Star Quilt: Poems
Contributor(s): Hill Whiteman, Roberta (Author)
ISBN: 0930100964     ISBN-13: 9780930100964
Publisher: Holy Cow Press
OUR PRICE:   $11.66  
Product Type: Paperback
Published: October 1999
Qty:
Temporarily out of stock - Will ship within 2 to 5 weeks
Annotation: Star Quilt

These are notes to lightning in my bedroom.
A star forged from linen thread and patches.
Purple, yellow, red like diamond suckers, children

of the star gleam on sweaty nights. The quilt unfolds
against sheets, moving, warm clouds of Chinook.
It covers my cuts, my red birch clusters under pine.

Under it your mouth begins a legend,
and wide as the plain, I hope Wisconsin marshes
promise your caress. The candle locks

us in forest smells, your cheek tattered
by shadow. Sweetened by wings, my mothlike heart
flies nightly among geraniums.

We know of land that looks lonely,
but isn't, of beef with hides of velveteen,
of sorrow, an eddy in blood.

Star quilt, sewn from dawn light by fingers
of flint, take away those touches
meant for noisier skins,

annoint us with grass and twilight air,
so we may embrace, two bitter roots
pushing back into the dust.
Additional Information
BISAC Categories:
- Poetry | Native American
- Nature | Regional
- Poetry | Subjects & Themes - Nature
Dewey: 811.54
LCCN: 00063284
Physical Information: 0.31" H x 6.1" W x 9.04" (0.34 lbs) 96 pages
Themes:
- Ethnic Orientation - Native American
 
Descriptions, Reviews, Etc.
Publisher Description:

Star Quilt

These are notes to lightning in my bedroom.
A star forged from linen thread and patches.
Purple, yellow, red like diamond suckers, children

of the star gleam on sweaty nights. The quilt unfolds
against sheets, moving, warm clouds of Chinook.
It covers my cuts, my red birch clusters under pine.

Under it your mouth begins a legend,
and wide as the plain, I hope Wisconsin marshes
promise your caress. The candle locks

us in forest smells, your cheek tattered
by shadow. Sweetened by wings, my mothlike heart
flies nightly among geraniums.

We know of land that looks lonely,
but isn't, of beef with hides of velveteen,
of sorrow, an eddy in blood.

Star quilt, sewn from dawn light by fingers
of flint, take away those touches
meant for noisier skins,

annoint us with grass and twilight air,
so we may embrace, two bitter roots
pushing back into the dust.