Cynthia West
To Asha
Asha, Asha, sister,
in the vast silence you opened
for our roses to drink,
you wake,
more alive than ever.
In the plain pine box,
buried on a frozen hill in Virginia,
you have lost all limits.
No longer restrained from being
everywhere, you cavort in and out
of the hundreds who love you.
Asha, Asha, sister,
in the winter ice
you are the new earth
wearing a huge golden dress
woven with our heart seeds.
Transparent as the dawn,
you are a mountain
full of roots that can dance.
The morning glory skies
your arms wrap around our sorrows
ring the blueness beyond sound.
Flocks of your prayers wheel free,
winged shapes in the sky
that dive, pouring peace.
Asha, Asha, sister,
your kind friendship
has become the pure water
you heated to serve us tea,
the green medicine
you offered to all.
The heat of your care
continues warming our bellies,
soothing the empty aches,
feeding the wholeness you planted.
On new wings you travel
to all our countries
gathering us into one body
smiling above the mud.
Asha, Asha, sister,
gazing skyward upon hearing
your beating feathers,
we shield our eyes
from the brightness
you are raining down.
It is the source water,
of which we are made,
washing our small windows,
clearing our mouths
to join your great song.
© Cynthia West, 1/11/22
