Golden Morning
Blossom of my heart,
prism and true,
like a cottontail
deer:
the wood
deep and
home
to a few thousand
flutters …
the clouds, pastel
and powder, etched
against the mural
of water-blue,
tiny hands clutching
at the horseshoe
shadows
and duck feathers,
with padding shoes
and sailor-bright
smiles.
Emily Isaacson, The Fleur-de-lis (2024; one volume)
I have been reading books on royalty since childhood, when they were given to me by my well-meaning mother as gift; pouring over the velvet dresses and tiaras of Lady Di was a veritable passtime for a young girl whose name meant "princess". The same mother made sure my long blond hair was curled with a curling iron and done in barettes or pigtails or braids for every day of school and special occasions, including Sunday church, to which I was expected to show up every week in a "church" dress. Being in the church fishbowl meant we were the pastor's kids, all five of us ranging from me and my same-aged almost twin sister at age 11 to my youngest brother at age two. We were almost always on our best behaviour as we had to set an example for the other kids, with just a bit of rough-housing thrown in.
Being a formal poet, has in life, had preparation from listening to my father's sermons, reading the household poetry books, and pouring over picture books of other countries. It included listening to everything from old records to YouTube videos of other art forms and art realities. Art realities is like the lens that you see through; I might say that mine is blue glass. I love and collect blue glass. My art perceptions were sharpened by having two parents with Master's degrees, who loved poetry, wrote poetry, and frequently discussed their viewpoints, often animatedly.
I have recently written and published a book with my memoirs, detailing my interesting and formative childhood with these two parents and their five children. It is called Storm Watcher: it is a hybrid work that combines 261 pages of memoir and poetry.
