Ruthanne Collinson
Ruthanne (Rufus) Collinson has
worked as a journalist, photographer, bookkeeper and turkey farmer. Her
poems have appeared in various journals for the field of experiential
education. Two books of her poetry have been published by Folly Cove
Books, Turning the Stones (1997) and Traveling
to You (2008). Rufus is currently Manager of Communications for
Project Adventure and lives in Gloucester.
Water Over Stones
This morning
the ravenous sea
reaches way out
over the shore
and pulls back again,
powerfully driven
to contain itself
and everything else too.
I hear the haul
of water
over a hundred thousand
stones.
O the sound of longing,
hush rock hustle
huddle huddle hush,
the crockery and the surge,
water taking the shape
of stones,
this great symphonic
jostling
of all that comes in,
of all that pulls out,
of all that remains.
On the Boulevard
on the weathered promenade
above the ancient harbor,
I see the swan
gliding in from another
cove,
all curves and glory,
magnificently
Single.
And then a silver sedan
pulls up from the city side,
rolls in over smooth stones,
and stops.
In a lurch of time and
motion,
a woman emerges,
stooped and groping
calling over and over,
‘Sheenuu...Sheenuu...Sheenuu...’
The swan looks in her
direction
and paddles madly toward the
pebbled shore.
The woman plods carefully in
turn,
her arms clasped in front of
her.
Sheenuu comes ashore,
as awkward now as composed
before,
one slow ungainly step after
another.
The woman stumbles a little,
crooning softly now,
‘There there,’
reaching out the cup
of her clasped, primeval
hands.
The swan slides her long
neck
into the curve of arms.
And they embrace there
on my first morning in this
new place
where anything is possible.
Truth
Sitting on the stoop,
third week in the city,
I see a teen-aged girl
and a young boy -
maybe her brother,
maybe her charge -
pass by.
In a small hollow of quiet
within the bass notes and
the sirens,
I hear them clearly.
She is talking
with animation and
confidence.
She says, “It’s only
because
he cares about you So
much.”
After a small silence,
the boy reaches out
and touches her elbow,
saying again and again,
“It’s true.
It’s true.
It’s true.”
How wonderful
to be in the presence
even for a moment
of this young soul
discovering
for the first time perhaps
what in this life
is True.
As you pass through
the seasons of yourself..
May you slip a little,
drift a little,
swim way out,
lose yourself occasionally
in the fragrance
and the fire,
be a little blown away,
be a little certain,
find the hearth that waits
for you
in every kind of weather.