Totem World

A Sestina

Perhaps my totem is the dragonfly…
I ponder as I wander thru the spiral,
Or would it be a turtle or a seahorse?
I creep with thyme across the paths of sandstone,
I bathe in fire sun, sweat salt and rose,
then melt in ginger shade beneath the oak

that stood two hundred years, this mother oak,
in my backyard where once the dragonfly
lit on my knee and spoke to me then rose
and looked me in the eye, flew in a spiral
round me thrice then disappeared into the sandstone
cliff, in crevices of memories about the seahorse:

When I was seven I chose the seahorse
for my classroom project. Why not the oak
tree I don’t know, why not the sandstone
or the turtle or the dragonfly?
I loved the seahorse tail that curled in a spiral,
how its colors changed fluorescent neon rose

and how it sailed with tiny fins and rose
to mystically enchant another seahorse
so together they could dance and twirl tails and spiral
thru the water changing colors like the oak
in autumn, like the sun in wings of dragonfly,
like rain and moss and lichen on the sandstone,

chameleon of the water, sleek as polished sandstone,
as rainbows slanting crevices of light; I rose
from memory, from ginger shade, from dialogue with dragonfly,
from creeping thyme and mating dance with seahorse
and woke from dreaming sleep to find myself on oak,
the circle altar from my tree of youth that centers in my spiral

garden, my garden dug by hand, a giant planted spiral
bursting herbs, violas, lilies, paths of sandstone;
and through the leaf mulch every year a baby oak
emerges with the lilac, quince, and blooming rose,
and ferns unfolding spiral tongues remind me of the seahorse
tail, the gentle kiss of air upon my skin the dragonfly…

and so i lay on my oak altar in the spiral center,
kissed by sun while dragonfly slips into sandstone crevices,
unfolding fern tongue memories of neon rose and seahorse magic…

--Diana Tigerlily