Rivka Zorea

The Core

At the epicenter of
the earth's core
Is a boiling, raging fire

Once in a while
it pushes forth
in an explosion

of violent passion

...me too

New Grandchild

Her cries become a palpable
Sharp summoning
to every fiber of my maternal
being

In her infant rage
she manages to draw me
into her echoing
tiny protests

Her entire small body
is involved in her fury
baby fists clenched

her froggy legs
now stretched out fully
soul piercing outrage
make me catch
my breath

I briefly wonder
at her intensity

this amazing elf like creature
wielding so much power
so much magnetic response

Her power is complete

Just as suddenly
appeasement comes

with a brief frantic searching
and powerful attachment
to the offered breast

Aware of the World
~for Dorothy

When was it
When did the world slip
Away from her?

Did she watch it go?

Was she terrified and
Trembling in fear
At the first signals?
Those warning sirens
Composed of lost
Words
Then lost places.
The places she once
Took in her stride
Like the bathroom
And the kitchen and
Finally her own bed
But by the time
Of the lost faces
It was too late.
She finally resided
In the place her Mom
Once told her about
As a child.
In the world
But not of the
World.
Ironic.
Certainly not of
Her choosing.
But then, when her world
Slipped away along with
Those dead synapses
So did her choices.

If I Could Go barefoot

If I had a bicycle I would put playing cards on the spokes
to hear the click click click
as I sped down the street.

If I had some skates, I would find the ice cream man
and buy a rainbow missile popcicle

If I had dancing shoes I would dance in the sand at a beach
until I fell down laughing

If I could go barefoot I would climb an English walnut tree
and pretend the lady bugs were fairies
and on a windy day

I would ride the wind like the circling hawk
I would feel the mighty branches sway
under me as strong winds blast my
hair back from my face

I would fly with the hawk

If I could go barefoot

Autumn Comes Again

Autumn comes to the North Land with a fervent rythm
the long starless day of summer is past, August has
brought
the stars and the moon and the deep night sky back.
The absence of which brought the frenzied activity of the
24/7 midnight sun.
There is a loss of clock time during the Alaska Summer
the wish to play forever. Lack of sleep, trying to use up
that gift of eternal sunshine.

But, now, the night returns.
The owl is but a shadow.
A distant echo in the woods.
Yellows appear here and there
Reds and Russets dot the hillside.
The Raven, harbinger of winter, returns.
Fall leaves will gently descend and we will pull our cloaks
around us closer
walk faster
glance around us in fear.
for in the North land
Fall is but the siren call of winter.

Lament of the Heroine of a
Trashy Novel

Useless Love
needless love
Forbidden
wrong

We don't belong
we can't belong
It's all wrong

Where did you come from?
Falling into my life?

I'm someone else's wife

Page two
Who cares!
I want you...

Rivka Zorea's profile

Spring in the Northland

Spring in the North Land
Does not come in a blast of color.
The achromous land is still covered
In a blanket of snow.
The pregnant carpet beneath
Is anxious to breathe the fresh Arctic air.
The profusion of hothouse-derived colors in the city
Of the peony and the chrysanthemum
Are city hues only.
They are there for the tourist, and to decorate
The towns and city of the north.
But, out in the Tundra,
Spring comes on whispers--
A soft musical melody, that sees the end
Of the dance of the Aurora
And welcomes the long day of summer.
This melody is sung by the lichen
And the thick Arctic grasses,
Heard only by the Caribou and the Eskimo.

Paint Jobs

They painted her green
She screamed and she cried
They painted her green
but her Red never died

I'm not green...she moaned
and they consoled her with care,
painted her green
and cut off her hair

But we're all green they said
so sad and concerned
Red isn't right, it's only
dreamed, only learned

When Red showed through
the color of Sin
with meticulous care
they painted again

But I'm Red! She would say,
not like you...all Green!
They smiled silently as they
worshiped their Queen

No, Your green, they crooned
over again
For Red is the color of Blood
and of SIN

But I want RED, she did scream,
I AM RED, she did shout,
No! You'll always be Green
without any doubt

We have lots of paint!
We'll never run out!

Now Red and Green mixed
together make brown,
the color
of dirt

And they buried her there
even though it did
hurt

They erected a marker
for their precious Red Queen

and carefully

lovingly

Painted it Green

Symphony in Red

Do not be alarmed
the world is dying
a gentle death
or at least a slow one
It isn't young you know
and has lived a full-of-everything
life.
It is not a painful death.
The world has terminal reality
A boa constrictor has wrapped
its diamond and gold labeled
body about the neck of Mother Earth
A fatal squeeze can be mistaken
for a hug you know
Don't fear the ending
the decaying breath
the blood curdling
screams
Clashing in tiny wrinkled wars
They are merely the gags and throes
of the dying
There has to be blood soaked
spittle and atomic foaming
at the mouth
But after all
nothing lasts forever
except silent
funerals
attended
by
nobody

Street Exchange

The Red Earth bakes beneath her feet
nothing to eat
nothing to eat

Silently moving through the city she goes
all the while
she knows
She knows

She takes her place in silence
receives her bowl of thin steam
a moonbeam

Her belly still speaks as she swiftly
sidesteps the man offering her
a dime

maybe next time
maybe some other time
for a dime

This Year

it was the year
Without Winter

No pillow of soft snow
No children leaning
into icy wind

In Eegeegeek
In Shaktuliq and
Kotzebue

the children did
not laugh catching
soft flakes on their
tongues

Huddled around
the school where
village elders
gather

the Raven flies silently
his usual raucous laughter
is now
only a warning

and the polar bear
sits facing the sea