Rachel Morton and JoAnn Moore

Rebirth
By Rachel Morton
Hand-sculpted clay and conch shell
Made using JoAnn Moore’s poem (below) as inspiration

With the Power of Waves
for Christopher
By JoAnn Moore

Twenty foot waves on this northern California coast; today
I came to witness the power of surf and found
frothy white rolls that surged over Samoa’s massive beach

so completely
a newcomer would not know it was ever there.
But it wasn’t scary,

just powerful and complete,
as if the ocean had swelled with pride or love
or too much of something

and it just needed to push it in to the shore.
It needed to show the world, to be
seen, to be sure it was felt.

The waves roared and rolled frothy white green.
I counted twelve incoming peaks that suddenly
merged into one.

Over and over—
the sea’s constant rumble far offshore, somewhere
just enough in the cloud mist to make it impossible

to discover its source,
like when one’s in an airport and feels the rumble
of the biggest plane hurtling down the runway

and it shakes the ground but there’s no fear of falling
or caving in. And then the plane lifts off and there’s a soft
roar of wind forcing its way not earthward

but through the earth.
That was the sound of this surf—
and it didn’t hurt my ears,

as if nature was in control
and this was the plan. That’s how it felt
last week when you called after twenty eight years.

The blood rushed to my ears and suddenly I couldn’t hear
why I was sure I would never find love. So today I’m not
surprised that these waves don’t scare me,

that they’re so soothing in their intensity
and unrelenting journey.
I smile and nod my head

as they unearth
an enormous redwood burl long buried on this beach out
into the incoming waves.

Bobbing and battered, cushioned by
sea foam its unexpected journey begun
after giving up the safety of the shore

and the past.

——————————————————-

Untitled
By Rachel Morton
Hand-sculpted clay
Inspiration Piece provided to JoAnn Moore

Of Frost and Form
By JoAnn Moore
Response to Rachel Morton’s sculpture (above)

I miss you today while
Michigan’s wind driven flat
encourages the permafrost deeper.
These northern plains allow the ground
to solidify and walking on its rigidity
jars my bones to ache.
Winter freezes things: exposed
life, layered ground, all but the fastest water,
human interaction.
As this season lingers, I’ve grown
to admire the depths
of strength and those that come again
to believe in love before they solidify
like sculptured clay.
I want to remember
you like the rose sky of early morning
that pushes the night’s blue remnants below
the horizon. Hopeful that,
with the rising sun, the earth’s tension
recalls how to soften and breathe.