“Miller’s collection, WaterSigns, charts water’s path for plainspeople—water in the aquifer, water in the clouds, water in the field ditches and in the bird’s beak and in the mother’s womb. In this way, Miller’s collection is a celebration of life’s true blood, and Miller gets the people and the flora and fauna of Kansas-country right, right down to the dew drops on grass blades.” Kevin Rabas, author of Songs for My Father and Kansas Poet Laureate 2017-2019 “These are poems that snap open like a milkweed pod to release their seeds of visceral life, silky from the interior life, to bud and bloom again. The soul has a shell, a scream can be prisoned behind a smile, the Lazarus kitten can live again, and all those kinfolk places that passed away, it turns out, left us word in these poems. This is a poet who grubbed up earth from beside the house that burned, because she knew it was precious, but then, from such relics, built these celebrations. Drowning didn’t stop her, family feuds, lost love, times of dislocation so severe she wanted to die—but instead, this seeker turned her troubles into songs for us.” Kim Stafford, author of Early Morning: Remembering My Father, William Stafford “WaterSigns streams with wind and sun, small towns, and prairie sky. Here, there is a current of coyote bones, a legacy in an old woman’s eye glasses, a whiskey bottle behind a barn. Ronda Miller’s understanding of the natural world is real and never glossed. So too, her people live in a Kansas of the heart, one with the wind that buffets them, a poetry that runs deep with a melancholy longing for simple truth.” Al Ortolani, author of Paper Birds Don’t Fly “In this book of verse full of memories and transformations, one poem begins, “I found his wedding ring on the bottom / of a glass jar filled with pencil shavings.” The story is compelling, and the music of the language is a solace. Join Ronda Miller in her third full-length collection WaterSigns as she creates stories that sing.” Denise Low, Kansas Poet Laureate 2007-2009
“Ronda Miller’s new poetry collection WaterSigns is a hard testament to our rocky communion with nature, and with how the often violent, temperamental world darkens and shapes youth, adulthood, and beyond. Miller reminds us in sure terms of life’s temporality, how even falling trees can ‘steal the soul / and leave the shell’ of what we know. ‘I think of how much water / it takes to fill your body and mine,’ she muses, always mindful. Even so, the poet knows that the natural world is deep down a balm, a ‘place of safe retreat’ where we can whiff pipe tobacco ‘sweet as homemade fudge.’ With her new collection, Miller has granted us a glimpse into her guarded heart, a treasure ‘worth more than gold.’” Tyler Robert Sheldon, author of Traumas and First Breaths of Arrival “Ronda Miller’s latest book of poems, WaterSigns, is a search for healing: healing for her, for the ones she loves, for the rest of us who share this earth with her. There are poems here that flay us with pain, carry us from the edge of suicide, “breaking pretty little vases / …for anything / with sharp edges,” to the depths of a widow’s grief, “I found his wedding ring on the bottom / of a glass jar filled with pencil shavings. / …dumped word ashes onto my palm.” But then there are poems that lave the blessings of holy waters over those wounds: “You went all the way to the moon and back. / I saw you there myself,” she says to a child awakening from a nightmare. “Touch Me with Your Night / and I’ll show you my days,” she offers, and you stretch out your hand. You would do well to accompany her on this search “… to… /find a sky where geese, / by instinct, / know where they are going, / and so do I.” These are poems that seek words to help us come to terms with all that life presents, and in the end, finds them.” Roy Beckemeyer, author of Music I Once Could Dance To (2014, Coal City Press)
WaterSigns
“Ronda Miller’s poetry is explosive and exceptional. I especially like the personal poems about her life, both because she has lived things I have not and she describes even small portraits that have such colors and images that engender emotional response to her straightforward words. She says ‘if you want to know a poet, read his words…until they become your own.’ Ronda’s words become your own because they have such beauty and intimacy. Like the ‘Rare moments’ she describes in a certain dance and relationship, Ronda’s sensitive poems bring one in and make one dance along with the rhythm. I was sad to come to the end and immediately started again at the beginning. You will too.” Alan S. Kleiman, author of Grand Slam
5
Ronda Miller
6
WaterSigns Poetry by
Ronda Miller
WaterSigns is dedicated to the people who stand for the preservation of clean water the world over, to those who appreciate that emotion flows like water, and to those who share water and emotion in innovative ways. When I met my father in my early twenties, following fifteen years of separation, he shared with me that he wished he would have known more about water signs in terms of horoscopes—in particular, Scorpio. He felt it would have made a difference in my mother’s suicide. He and my mother and I all share the Zodiac sign of Scorpio. I offer this information only because it comes to me in these final moments of putting this manuscript together. Water is life’s blood. I’ve always understood that deepest pool of unification. I thank my family and friends for their support. In particular, poetry I’ve written about shared family members when memories and experiences differ. My children and my siblings are my life: Jena and Vernon Acors, Scott Wiggins, Scott Shreders, Apollonia and Gabriel Racca, Sasha and Jennifer Shreders, Nick and Julie Shreders (baby boy Shreders). I am thankful to have reconnected with siblings Jameson, Roberta, Yvonne, Carol, Penelope, Vanessa, and Calvin. To the following people who are no longer with us, but have never stopped drifting through my dreams. I thank my father Gerald Wiggins, my mother Peggy Miller Wiggins, Grandmother Helen Miller, aunts and uncles Earl and Glenna Neville and Doris and Lee Amsberry. They all had enormous influence over my young life. My writing career has been greatly encouraged by Uncle Dillard and Aunt Sue Wiggins. I also add two huge loves in my life, Sorrel Wiggins and Dimitry Shreders.
I don’t write poems, they right me. ~Ronda Miller
Meadowlark (an imprint of Chasing Tigers Press) meadowlark-books.com P.O. Box 333, Emporia, KS 66801 Copyright Š 2017 Ronda Miller All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover and Interior Photos by Crystal Socha fineartamerica.com/profiles/crystal-socha.html facebook.com/crystalsochaphotography/
ISBN: 0-9966801-2-8 ISBN-13: 978-0-9966801-2-7 Library of Congress Control Number: 2017910248
WaterSigns Poetry by
Ronda Miller
Contents WaterSigns •
Aquifer
1
……………………. .
•••••••
5 Above the Kaw • 7 Geese • 8 Just Dirt • 9
A Quieter Kansas •
Water Marbling Kansas •
11 Sage • 13
10
Harvest •
Cherry Creek •
Confluence
14
…………………………….
•••••••
Winter Meets •
19
20 Ivy Berry • 21 Trees •
Fake Photo Smiles •
23
24
Grandmother Against the Wind • My Drowning Year •
26
Bus Trip—When I was Terminal •
28 You are a Black Scarf • 29
27
Double Stuff Chicken •
i
30 Her Glasses • 31 Each Day •
Her 26th Birthday, Her Golden One •
Raindrops
•••••••
.
33
..
37 Little Tykes • 38 In Japan • 40 Unnamed • 41 Close Their Eyes • 42 She Says •
43 Among the Wild Primrose • 44 Gaia • 46 I’ve Never Met a Muslim • 48 Tedi—Spring/2002 - Spring/2007 • 49 A Child Asks, What is Death •
Mirage
…… …………….
•••••••
With Certainty • First •
54
53
55 i saw autumnal • 56 The One • 57 Green Tomatoes • 58
I Cradle My Song •
59 Touch Me With Your Night • 60 Missing Colorado • 61
Spiderman Underwear, Oh Man! •
ii
.. ………..
63 Word Ash • 64
Inverted Tulips •
Reservoir…
… ………………….
•••••••
67 Night Noises • 68 Eliminate • 69 Still, I Wait • 70 I Wash • 72 Don’t Get Attached • 73 if you want • 74 Kindred Spirits • 76 After Midnight • 78 Immure • 79 We Stand • 80 Today She Told Me • 82 In Waves • 83 Ciao Bella, God •
•••••••
85 Acknowledgments • 87 About the Author • 89 About the Photographs • 91 Also by Ronda Miller • 93 Publication Notes •
iii
WaterSigns
WaterSigns I flow in and out of sleep like steeped, seeping water from my mother’s womb.
Tepid, swirling movements below, beneath a guarded heart. Sights black, sounds muffled, scents and senses underdeveloped. A birth into blood, broken particles, fragmented consciousness. Nude limbs flail and swing as a first attempt to swim into existence makes a wide open gasp toward survival. Tossed upon parched, wrinkled skin, exhausted from heaving, I become this fish out of water, arrive in this new world where retaining and remaining water begins a lifetime of struggle.
Ronda Miller
2
WaterSigns
Aquifer
3
Ronda Miller
4
WaterSigns
A Quieter Kansas The silence of cornfields lulled us into thinking we’d never grow old, leave the countryside, send a son or a daughter to war, bury a husband or a wife. We had time to taste earth muddied from an early morning thunderstorm, lick syrup out of bowls filled with freshly fallen snow ice cream. We cracked marbles to make necklaces for Christmas gifts, pulled bloodied newborn kittens from a heaving mother’s sides in the basement of the one-room schoolhouse that bordered the Kansas and Colorado line. This is where we played spin the bottle, stole a first kiss, learned to cook, heating up leftovers sent from home. On quiet days, we laid in the grass, watched clouds wave as they angled their way across the lightest hue of blue sky. We straddled the Shetland pony bareback, clung with fear and excitement as knees pushed hard against his flank. His tangled mane blended, entwined with our own just as wild. Hot Kansas days found us sweating, toiling at play, climbing hills, descending into valleys, poking sticks into prairie dog holes, scavenging the bottoms of creek beds.
5
Ronda Miller
We didn’t carry a water bottle or lunch. We accepted thirst and hunger as we accepted the sun blistering our noses and our necks. We didn’t ask questions about the decaying body of a coyote, ears missing, cut off by grandfather’s pocket knife. We were children, caught up in each moment as though it was our entire life. We laughed loudly, wailed when we cried, were dead to the world when sleep finally came. We didn’t feel the sear of overused muscles or growing pains. We didn’t hear the sluggish squeal of the water tank as it pumped fresh water. Nor did we hear the howl of the wind as it escalated throughout the night, slowly, but with certainty, bringing change. It was a time away from time. It was a time of quiet in Kansas.
6
WaterSigns
Above the Kaw What spiritual message from swoop to dive above these frothy waters, as you cry in victory, do you bring in beak or claw? Prey within thou neb silences some while others speak in native tongue and awe of thou divine being; an inspiration to a nation for protecting young soaring high above the rest of humankind.
You do not reside among the living, but in highest bough of tree above the Kaw where illumination lives inside your nest with squirming young. Man, who dares not disturb, waits and watches from afar, detailing your every move in hope a lone feather may fall; a treasure worth more than gold for his awakening.
7
Ronda Miller
Geese circle around, fly backward, fail to synchronize, flail and squawk, eventually fall into place, their time and space as confused as my own. This year an antichrist strides, legs long enough to reach Kansas from D.C., or is that New York? Native Americans fight for clean water rights the world over, stand their ground as others shrink and shirk family duties. I keep faith/presence with like-minded people, promise myself to continue the fight, find a sky where geese, by instinct, know where they are going, and . . . so do I.
8
WaterSigns
Just Dirt I arbitrarily clean; a Ziploc bag of dirt shifted from one place to another. I think about pouring it inside a glass jar, ideally antique, from the same farm the dirt came from. I think about tossing it inside the trash bag draped over an arm. I can’t bring myself to relinquish that which brought me to my knees the last time I visited.
The old homestead burning to the ground was more than I could bear. I clawed dried earth, filling the bag, my lungs, with what I’d come to love as a child. My first real home. It was the same dirt I craved and ate following Rocky Mountain thunderstorms that carved pathways through pastures and sky, leaving my view and breath fresh, quickened. I no longer search for happiness. I accept emotions flow like dirt through my fingers.
9
Ronda Miller
Water Marbling Kansas New term, old art, predictable images of times past float as photos through my mind. Switch out one, insert another, no lack of them pulled forward. Water . . . marbling. Water . . . marveling. Oily duck feathers, water rolls off a back. Marbles spin in water. Attempts to shoot them under, shoot them back to the top. They glisten under white, blinding light, wink their way out of sight. I exaggerate. Water marbling, the art of laying colors down upon different surfaces that don’t mix like male/female species skating on ice. Mix it up, color it up, draw lines throughout, dissect, such an art. I want to be above it all, hold a wire, power in my hand, drag it across the sky of Kansas, varied soil below. Combine earth with sky. God, the colors, the blend, the art you have created.
10
WaterSigns
Harvest My sister and I climbed, scraping shins along the way, far into the upper branches of the tree in my grandparent’s front yard that summer. We could see pastures, cows with heads bent to earth, grazing, the sky, an unbroken view. We watched for signs of dust puffing toward us from the thin road, winding miles ahead. The one that took us to Highway 36 on the school bus or to our Saturday grocery shopping in town. We were in that same tree the first time we met High. He ambled through the gate I practiced jumping over and stood nearly eye to eye, matching our height in the tree branches. His smile was broad and we took an instant liking to this stranger. He lifted us down, followed behind as we threw open the screen door to where our grandmother stood, 11
Ronda Miller
apron adorned, in a standard farmhouse kitchen. My sister and I were excited to learn High would be staying for the summer harvest and working on repairs needed for the granary and barn. He slept in a twin bed in the room next to ours. It would be the room my grandfather moved into years later when arguments with my grandmother grew more frequent. High found time to play with us daily, always sharing a quick wink and a broad smile. We saw him early August at the county fair. He spoke with my grandparents, hat in hand, his gaze earnest and direct. My sister and I watched from atop the Ferris wheel. High waited to say hello, to lift us down. It was a month after wheat harvest when grasshoppers and crickets lay still from the dry heat of summer. It was a month after my grandfather fired him for drinking behind the barn.
12
WaterSigns
Sage I stood at the edge of the Arikaree Breaks and let the winds of the world rush over me, felt them push and pull my hair in the heat of this newly birthed August day. It was there I whispered to William Stafford, “Can you help me, Bill? Can you show me a sign, offer some words of wisdom? I’m having trouble making things right inside my world, this world.” I pictured him beside me, his calm face pointed toward the horizon. Perhaps his eyes were taking in the dew that had gathered through the night and sparkled upon the sage that smelled of both heaven and earth. He closed his eyes and breathed inward with all his senses. I was grateful to have his presence beside me. His expression didn’t change, his mouth didn’t move, but I heard his voice on the wind, “Be silent and listen. It is all you need of today.” 13
Thank you for reading this sample of Ronda Miller’s WaterSigns.
This book is available for purchase at: Meadowlark Books The Raven—Lawrence, KS Barnes & Noble Amazon
and wherever you buy books.
About the Author Ronda Miller is a Life Coach who works with clients who have lost someone to homicide. She is a graduate of the University of Kansas and continues to live in Lawrence. She is a Fellow of The Citizen Journalism Academy, World Company, a Certified Life Coach with IPEC (Institute of Professional Empowerment Coaching), a mother to two step sons, Sasha and Nick, a son, Scott and a daughter, Apollonia. She created poetic forms loku and ukol. She was the co-chair, along with Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg, for the Transformative Language Arts Conference at Unity Village September, 2015. Miller was the poetry contest manager for Kansas Authors Club (2011-2014). She is the District 2 President of Kansas Authors Club (2015 – 2017), and the club’s Vice President (2016 – 2017). When Miller isn’t coaching clients, volunteering time to Kansas Authors Club, or writing poetry, she is busy learning life skills from children with special needs.
*Author Photos by Karen Ledford
Special Thanks to Crystal Socha whose photographs are poetry in visual form
About the Photographs
Crystal Socha started her photography career with a 4x5 large format camera. She developed and printed all of her own photographs. Although she still shoots with her film camera, she has made the transition to the digital age. Crystal primarily focuses on landscapes, but over the last couple of years has developed a love of photographing eagles and other wildlife. She enjoys spending time in the Flint Hills of Kansas capturing not only its vast rolling landscape, but also the ranching life, which unfolds in the heart of the hills. When Crystal isn’t out photographing she spends her time taking care of her horses. She has also driven and trained Belgian hitch horses for competition. She’s done that for fifteen years, winning several team classes. She is currently driving a team of horses at the Cowtown Museum in Wichita, Kansas. fineartamerica.com/profiles/crystal-socha.html facebook.com/crystalsochaphotography/