nightrunning

NIGHTRUNNING

poems

Khadijah Lacina

Contents

Still Life With War Part 1: Nightrunners

Owl’s Call

Autumn Wild

Still Life with War Part 2: Breaking Point

Summer

Cut

Shadowplay

Benediction

Alone

Still Life with War Part 3: Battleground

Ghost

Moment of Truth

Warrior

Dreamcatcher

Still Life with War Part 4: Under the Bed

Dreamweaver

Memory’s Ash

I am

Breath of Stars

Moon Light

Still Life With War Part 5: The Moment Of

Aftershock

Tangled

Through the Night

Home

The Truth of Walls

Love Letter

NightWild

Still Life with War Part 6: Alive

Exultation

Prayer

- : -

Note

Night to me has always been a time of magic, a time of power. Past, present, and future fold together, and distance loses meaning. As a child growing up in Wisconsin’s Kickapoo Valley I would lie in bed with the curtains lightly billowing, listening to the wind stir the trees, and think about how that wind, that night, connected me with the people who walked the ground outside my window before me. Years later in Liberty, New York, I bundled up my then-small children and walked them down the street from our house to a field to watch the sky fill with falling stars as the coyotes yipped and howled on the rim of hills that surrounded us. It was during the years I lived in Yemen, though, that the night expanded, as war caused her to bare her fangs and show me a side of her I had never experienced before.

Now at home in the Ozarks, I still meet each night with wonder. It is out of this wonder that Nightrunning was born.

- : -

Still Life With War

Part 1 - Nightrunners

tonight I saw

nightrunners

again

corner of my eye

visions

a hand splayed

over tree bark

head, shoulders

crouched

not to spring

but to listen

I pray as I approach

knowing our paths

have to cross

sometime

please let him

let me by

this once

tomorrow

forever

remembering

cold night

behind mud walls

hearing

sandaled feet

run by

or worse

creep stealthily

fabric against stone

so close I can feel

his heartbeat

so cold

huddled under

layers of true dark

no streetlights

to give even a hint

wondering

is the window too small

please let it be

let him be too big

try to remember

please

did I lock the door?

Owl’s Call

the chill

in the

night

air

owl

calls

listens

to the

echo

of its

own

voice

realizes

too soon

he is still

alone

falls

silent

beneath

a blanket

of shining

stars

my soul

the moon's

pale

reflection

shattered

by only

a breath

of wind

Autumn Wild

tonight leaves blow

down in wild

abandon

heedless

no drift and glide

just twirl and ride a

cruel wind

cuts to the bone

and back

heartsliced

deafened with white noise

trying to find center

where none exists

only this way or that

dead crunch of leaves

beneath booted feet

eagle dips

tips wings wide in flight

crow calls endless caws

searching for up

I find only

the thread of dreams

dangling

from tattered mitten top

cold seeps in

as I weave, madly,

finding warmth

I know is there

if only I can find it

hold it

breathe new life

into indifferent autumn.

Still Life with War

Part 2 - Breaking Point

darkness

cold stone

against

my back

footsteps

approach

slow

stop

the smell

of rancid

sweat

the harsh

in and out

of breathing

ragged

harsh

the moment

stretched

almost

to breaking

before

i raise

the blade

warm

in my

hand

prepare

cross

the line

that

cannot

uncrossed

Summer

gentle moon

your hand

upon my

thigh

cool breeze

the night

sighs

undone

Cut

all I have to offer

words

heart

soul

a thousand

jagged shards

that will

cut your hands

as they reach for mine.

coyote howls

I know you hear.

the same moon

shines on us both

my broken voice

caught

echoes back

digs deep

stay close

by your fire

warm

and know

I dream of you

Shadowplay

snow light lifts dark

the bite of the moon

half full clearly seen

engraved on the back

of your hands

Benediction

lay your head

man

close weary eyes

settle in the scented softness

of my lap

curling like a cat around you

let worries gently drift

sift slowly to the bottom

of your cup

we won’t move

breathe

just let them settle

then

when it’s safe

we’ll move

gentle moon driven

tides

push

slowly

to the distant

shore

Alone

The old man

plays bones

tonight

under

the trees

at the bottom

of the hill.

They beat

away

the silence

that seeps

into my head

between

breaths

the silence

that comes

with your

leaving.

Still Life with War

Part 3 - Battleground

I remember running

through dark streets

not hearing

but knowing

he was there

running

past the houses

doors closed

windows shut tight

knowing I could not

knock

could not bring

the hell that was

down on them

it was

mine

alone

Knowing no escape

I chose my battleground

decided

fight

or surrender

drew my knife

waited

until the soft scuffle

of combat boots

on worn stone

told me

the wait

was done.

Ghost

before light

darkness

embraced

a whisper

of skin

on sheets a

dream

breath

on my neck

a hand tight

against belly

urging me back

to meet

heat

light and dark

together

the half light

of dawn

brings you

near

until

I break

the surface

breath slows

the ghost

of woodsmoke

fills the air

Moment of Truth

Last night

snowfall

the cold

held outside

by memories

of the times of

broken glass

raised fists

shattered peace

bootprints in the sand

I hear your voice

trying to get in

but I know

now

that it belongs

with the cold

The warmth

inside

would break

you in two

Warrior

last night I reached through that dream

the one with the lit torch fires

rage distorted faces

mob yelling as one

blood already on the ground

I reached through it with the power of coyote

the blessed lightness of the soft down feather

of the bird of the forest

my only two weapons

I reached through it

remembered the old song

and sang it for you

kept your sleep safe and whole

so only I awoke, alone,

feardrenched

to hold the night

at bay

Dreamcatcher

don't you

find

freedom

in dreams

she said

that's

where

we all

run free

i said

at night

i am chased

by demons

memories

of what

is gone

of what

i cannot

touch

of what

i could

not save

wars

i fight

lost

long

ago

day

has

taught

childhood

vision

blurs

early

light

only

signifies

that

dark

comes

soon

hope

a drop

of water

at the

end

of a

lonely

branch

i hold

no stock

in dreams

instead

i watch

the moon

fulfill

evening's

promise

hear

wind

turn

memory's

leaves

wait

for the

touch

that

will

one

day

bring

home

Still Life with War

Part 4 - Under the Bed

don’t think

like me don’t

remember

nights split

open like

overripe

melons by

a hatchet of

fire that fell

from the sky

don’t

remember

the damp

smell of stone

shelters dug

in the side

of a mountain

of rock a womb

so damn

frail

does it smell

like this

in the grave

mama?

don’t think

morning

brings peace

shoos the monster

from under the bed

that your

bloody

handprint

on the wall

will tell

your story

when your

voice lodges

in your

throat

don’t

believe

the flames

can’t touch

you because

i tell you

i know

not think

i know

no doubt

they can

Dreamweaver

before

moonrise

the shadows

filled

the spaces

between

the stars

when

the moon’s

light

came

they fell

cool night

to earth

I wove them

through

my hair

used them

to dry

your

tears

Memory’s Ash

courage

you know

lies in the

last tiny

fist

grasped

before

the lights

one by

one

go out

the fire

memory’s

bitter

ash

settled

at the

back

of your

throat

I am

I am from

a valley

cradled

in the sweet

breast of

mountains

Kickapoo

River fed

a cold swim

on a dappled

summer

afternoon

I am from

winter’s

depth

floating

stars land

on my

tongue

explode

the smell

of snow

I am from

the moment

the glass

shatters

reveals

the fragility

of life

a nightmare

woven

into dreams

by the hands

of a child

I am from

ancient

stone houses

a city grown

from earth

herself

a land

where

the dead

whisper

just around

the corner

i never

seem

to reach

I am from

the buzz

of planes

that tip

their

wings

a jaunty

hello

before

death

rains down

I am from

breathless

hours

behind

the door

listening

for the

slide

of fabric

against wood

the thick

scent of oil

the click

and slide

that tells

you the

bullet

is ready

for you

I am from

cool steel

hot love

deep earth

sky above

sun’s warmth

moon’s sigh

wrapped

together

lifted high

worlds spin

hope flies

truth is

tangled

up in lies

I am

all that

was

before

Breath of Stars

crickets’

seesaw

voices

scratch

against

the walls

outside

the night

breathes

stars

against my

upturned

face

I stand

anchored

by the damp

grass

crushed

beneath

my feet

but my

heart

hangs

dangling

on the

cusp of

the moon

Moon Light

that love

travels

i believe

in moon

light

reflected

on snow

softly

draping

trees

bent

to whisper

poetry

to waiting

earth

carried

by grass

bent with

the weight

of the

wind’s

message

whispered

in the ear

of a child

caught

at the edge

of slumber

in a small

midwestern

town

shuffled

from leaf

to fallen

leaf

crackling

with the

cold breath

of autumn's

dying hope

heard

at last

by a young

man

standing

head bowed

by the side

of the road

looking

for the

place his

story

would

begin

love

i know

resists

heart's

bondage

strains

always

to find

a way

out

sifts

quietly

through

time's

porous

skin

Still Life With War

Part 5 - The Moment Of

I hope

in those

last moments

of fire

and fear

someone

held you

skin

to skin

the sweat

of shared

humanity

gluing

you

together

the shared

dreams

of childhood

what we

wanted

so much

to be

when we

grew up

but oh

how things

change

in ways

we never

imagine

and there

you are

and I am

and yet

our mothers’

arms

held us all

so tight

kept

away

the night

I pray

they

reached

out from

behind

the mist

and held

you

one

last

time

Aftershock

I see bodies

wound loosely

in sheets

splayed

across

the middle

of the road

hear the low

buzz of planes

seek ground

prepare

for fire

to fall

taste fear

metallic

at the back

of my throat

when night

pushes

too hard

for me past

present

future

hold steady

as one

you

with your

earthy smell

of woodsmoke

your quiet

voice unexpected

laughter generous

heart strong

hands simple

hope undying

dreams the

rough press

of your body

against mine

pushes demons

back paints

sky clear

and blue

hands me

the gift

of the

present

pulls back

the curtain

shows me

what the

future

can hold

Tangled

windswept

leaves

mimic life

scatter

under

imperfect

light

your hand

at my

breast

echoes

the moon

tangled

in the

waves

of night

Through the Night

sweet shadow

of night dims

lamplight

plays with

the lines

on your face

your hands

hold the reins

dawn rides

in while we

straddle

the moon

Home

i half-dressed

at the edge

where

reality and

the work

of bringing

fantasy

to life

mingle

the face in

the mirror

an intimate

stranger

my eyes

still mine

meet

yours

wild

afraid

always

that when

i cross this

line i will

never return

i pull

your head

to my breast

your breathe

sweet upon

the curve

of my chest

your hands

so gentle

against

my back

remind

me you will

always

forever

to me

be home

The Truth of Walls

you don’t

truly believe

because

you listen

to the echo

of your own

voice

don’t know

how high

the walls

reach

jagged

fingered

squeezing

tight

they hold

the breath

of the sky

hostage

you forget

that

to reach

high

the foundation

must be

deep

what use

are walls

that crumble

at the first

low buzz

of a drone

the metallic

chink

of a bullet

chambered

the sigh

of an

old man

seeing

the veins

on his hand

for the last

time

the scream

of a woman

trapped

under

the shadow

of a falling

bomb

use

only

the cry

of a child

born

innocent

sage

bearing

witness

can break

the wall

and still

hold

the sky

aloft

Love Letter

if I could write

a love letter

to you –

and I can’t

because

I’m not

claiming crazy

just yet –

I would tell you

that I hear

the sound

of your voice

just behind

me soft

as the swish

of a horse’s

tail that

when I walk

I pretend

you are

parked just

out of sight

past the broken

bit of fence

where I stand

and wait

for the moon

to rise

I would tell you

how love

doesn’t always

come

in the rumble

of thunder

the heat-filled

sear of lightning

in a dark sky

but often

it steals in

carried

on the scent

of a bee

recently

returned

from a spring

filled field

suddenly

there

like the dew

that appears –

from within

or without

who really knows

because who

has ever seen

it come-

the dew

sprinkled

across a sleep

smoothed brow

that it rises

mist and light

from the valley

behind

the trees

where

the woodpecker

plies

his trade

I would tell you

this love

so quiet

makes

my heart

shout

with joy

NightWild

night brought

the Wildman

first a clatter

of bones

in the woods

then the

soft sound

of barefeet

walking

up the

path

a face

glimpsed

in a milky

windowpane

soft gold

glint

of light

doorknob

rattles

gently

turns

the bark

of a dog

distant

sharp

leaves

night

empty

in its

wake

Still Life with War

Part 6 - Alive

still

is the

moment

before

the next

bomb

drops

when

the sky

is so

god

alive

so blue

and the

clouds

hide

nothing

but the

sun

and

children

laugh

knowing

that

peace

is just

that

a piece

of life

you

can’t

order

can’t

command

can’t

force

to sit

in your

lap

and

birds

take

their

rightful

places

in the

space

between

earth

and sun

and there

you are

I am

in that

still

space

still

standing

knowing

the buzz

of planes

far off

but not

far enough

that buzz

those

planes

the bombs

will drop

again

Exultation

an exultation

of sun and

wind and

the taste

of you

on my

tongue

I will you

with a

kiss

to know

I would rip

the stars

from the

fabric

of night’s

sky

kneel

here

your

thigh

white

beneath

my hair

feed them

one by

one

to you

Prayer

tomorrow’s

moon

rides

the sky

in black

for now

wind

scattered

prayers

fill

the sky

with

song

- : -

promotional image: At Night in Sana'a, Yemen, by Rod Waddington, courtesy of Creative Commons

a facqueuesol paperless book 2017