I Remember Walking By You. (By Jennifer Lee Thompson).

I Remember Walking By You. (By Jennifer Lee Thompson).

Jennifer Lee Thompson graciously allowed me to share her poem on my blog. The world needs more Jennifer poems. I Remember Walking by You 5-11-15 I remember well walking into Samagaun after the “real” gradual flat of sandy plain guarded, precious yak field of rock surrounds… women carry cut trees in baskets, baby yaks outside the wall, we walk by bulls past the soccer game and school girls not in uniform, laughing together and holding on. The woman in her rough, gray dress, old apron a custom before the colorful stripped ones. Hair…continue reading →

I Remember Walking By You. (By Jennifer Lee Thompson).

Jennifer Lee Thompson graciously allowed me to share her poem on my blog. The world needs more Jennifer poems.

I Remember Walking by You

5-11-15

I remember well

walking into Samagaun

after the “real”

gradual flat of sandy plain

guarded, precious yak field

of rock surrounds…

women carry cut trees in baskets,

baby yaks outside the wall,

we walk by bulls

past the soccer game

and school girls not in uniform,

laughing together and holding on.

The woman in her rough, gray dress,

old apron a custom

before the colorful

stripped ones.

Hair gray too

like her rough dress

like the mani stones

like the clouds happen to be now…

moves the prayer wheels

fast with her old hands.

Upright, she is attuned

to this repetitive movement

believing in prayers to wind…

this way of turning copper.

Sarah in her red rain cover,

the grayness of slim figure,

day turning,

together share an image,

clicked in my mind’s eye,

of arrival.

To the Tashi Delek Guest house

over water stones

and gutters moving snow melt

with ever present yak dung

fresh and day-dried,

to nostril

and select footstep.

We enter this town of built rock

blinding in color and form

to the mountain from which it came.

Our slight, unbelieving prayer

of our own

to see Manaslu Peak tomorrow

put in a demanded hope…

we have come all this way…

but this mountain

on its own terms

will always be

and disregards us.

We feel this disregard

and love the mountain for it.

For isn’t that its nature after all?

Tumbling to sky

not looking back one moment,

only going forward in geologic time

Reaching?

So we settle in

to many shades of gray.

The young Tibetan mother

only in red

plays with her four young children

surrounding her

on the barnyard ground

on straw-matted blanket

next to our rooftop lunch table.

There is joy there

next door

in the dirt and tenderness.

A young, oldest girl’s eyes pleading,

asking for something small

saying hello

with eyes and shyness.

Later with two Swiss women

They make a small Chorten

out of the infinity of glacial rocks

round and flat,

placing many delicate movements

together with shredded prayer flags.

It stays!

Reveling in its own thoughtful

care and Balance.

Sunshine for two hours on Dishing Lama’s

loom movements and slow teaching.

I sit by her side.

Four hours should do it!

Warp and weave,

I learn her method

by sight and

by staying with it.

Colorful yarn balls

tumble out on trail…

somehow these colors

make the Tibetan carpet

by hooks, pulls, smooth wood

and brown hand…

make the age-old inscription

in new, laughing colors.

Evening,

stone-cold

comes early.

Waking before midnight

to five men singing Nepali songs…

their harmony

adjunct to laughter and drink.

Inside the singing night

the Big Dipper

on this side of the world,

pours up, this month

sky into other dark sky.

Later a Lone Wolf calls

and the town dogs

take up their posts.

Later

I won’t be able to drink milk tea

without sugar,

remembering

the hot, thick syrup of a tea

on Uttam’s patio.

That syrup

holding connection,

promise

welcome

and it’s more than good

you are alive and OK.

For one day the Earth

will take it’s complete fold

upon us…

we are in her great palm-of-a-hand anyway,

riding on the Joy

of the green and blue Earth.

So why not?

have sugar in milk tea,

sit by a loom for a day,

follow young friends up a mountain,

thinking I can do it – I can.

 

 

Jennifer L. Thompson

5-11-15

P1120593

Jennifer learning the loom from Dishing Lama

This article has 2 comments

  1. Linda Sentz Reply

    Such beauty……… bringing tears of joy and sorrow in the reading. Thank you Jennifer, my heart touched deeply..

  2. Lucy Sotar Reply

    Jennifer is amazing! Her poem captures so fully the reality and spirit of life there with the simplest of words and form. Yes, she should write many more poems.

Thoughts?