White Raven

Blondie's taffy curls sport a striped

grosgrain bow astride a topknot.

She winks.

Her chipmunk cheeks swell

creating slitted eyes

above her "say pickles" smile.

Aged three, she poses atop a bail of hay,

hands on hips, flirting,

dressed in a 40s ruffled pinafore.


Now, grown to motherhood, she

sits beneath lush green oak and alder shade,

gazing on a rushing silver stream.


The mother recalls an oak-shaded room

by a still river. The question comes:

"You have something in your hand?"

"Yes, a curved, beaked oval of ivory

with a small, burned eye."

But, there are no elephants in Alaska;

her logical mind emits a sigh.


Then, through L.A. smog

and traffic jams along The 110,

she exits, plies past Hispanics leaving

Sunday mass on Mother's Day.

Up a steep hill, hoping

her car manages the climb,

she seeks shade for parking

outside the Southwest Museum.

Its store delights her inner child,

which revels in silver, turquoise and coral,

books, drums, art--the Tree of Life in a Navajo rug.


Overhearing a clerk who speaks

of carvings, a special Northwest display,

she peers over shoulders, realizes, requests a closer

view of the ivory necklace.

So tightly strung they twist,

alternating oval abalone and round

ivory beads descend

to a curved, oval, ivory charm.

It fits exactly in her right hand;

an abalone eye--

the only variance from her vision--

winks an ocean of plausibility.

On its back a sticker intones one word--Raven,

bird of magic, sun-seeker, lightbringer,

Mercury between two worlds--

half a scrying pair. Urim or Thummim?

A walrus' ivory tusk carved

by Patty Fawn--elephants, indeed.


If her child is to lead,

it must be through

Raven's magic hole,

the single spiritual eye.


So much contained

in White Raven's watery, winking eye.

Time-warp to Blondie's teasing smile:

Your child shall lead you.