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letra de maiden blue - mat4yo

another blurry render in my viewfinder
a new kind of bird who’s ever out of reach for a wildlifer
armed with a camera i quickly snipe
creatures on a canvas for a princely price

every storm of common birds brings a calm that stirs the woodp-ck-rs, cardinals and warblers

oh, the wonders of this world called earth
every color paints a prize people score for work, or even more for sport

it is certainly a break from every fickle insecurity of man’s institutions on the urban side
every perfectly paved pathway is a courtesy that lets us coexist with what they call, “divine”

playgrounds, pavilions, park benches like the planks i pause upon daily
sitting pressed against a plaque with something written faintly: “in loving memory of daisy.”

if only anyone came to remember her
all i know is her first name and moniker
underneath her lifespan reads two simple words:
wildlife photographer

daisy, such a name seems penned by nature’s author
a floral figure born from the fauna, here no longer
had she lost her way? dived too deep submerged in her work?
or maybe did she take it to the bank and flee across the earth?
nevertheless, sitting here, i bare with my eyes
something inanimate, yet very much alive
a cunning blue wind rushes through the sky
like the blurry memory of a race car zooming by

my fingers shiver
my shutter shudders
not fast enough to capture where the wind wanders

i cl!ck cl!ck cl!ck
no dice
so, i rub my eyes and wonder why my luck’s run dry

between the blurry blinking, i quickly catch a glimpse of
a patch of grass just inches away with frosted tips and
i whisk back my head but the whiplash instead
caused blobs of black to bubble up and blind my vision

useless
l dilate my eyes and zoom in
focusing and slowly revealing the shape of a human

a stunning bride to the forest so sweet
draped with navy locks stretching down to her feet
dusted with powder blue skin and a shimmering tint
with a crown made of flowers and sticks
shoddy, yet regal, enveloped in mystery
her temporary footsteps lost to history

i dash after the apparition
panting, trying to snap a picture
racking focus, adding digits
to fix the settings like a mathematician
but i’m gasping as the air gets thicker
blast one last shot to win the jackpot
then checked the camera
alas, the image had lacked a figure
i missed her

i heard nothing but birds calling and sticks falling to the ground
i began walking away until i was frozen by a faint sound

her voice could quell a giant, no matter how defiant
a simple song so quiet, yet, could quench the thirst of silence

she could sing a rotten flower back to life, it’s such a pleasure
i’d stop my search if only i could listen forever

i crawl across a spongy bog
and park up on a broken dock
to find that witch-like figure watching me from afar
i dial my stop up a notch
this could be the money shot!
and as i checked the frames i got
the nature’s there
the lady’s not

but still, she stands before me
i cannot make a lie
the maiden in blue is but a friend to the naked eye

i whisper, “h-llo,” perhaps thinking wishful
for naught but a waste of two syllables

but when i ask the wind for its name
it suffocates me, gusts abruptly unto my face, see then it
shrinks to a hush, just to lushy usher the sound of a
shy young lady who whispers, “salvia.”

“that’s… beautiful,” i say without thinking
her visage blinking into my plane of existence

“i don’t know anyone with that name,” i imply
“neither do i,” she replies

you’re a poltergeist
a forest sprite?
a hallucination from consuming pumpkin spice?

whatever she is, it’s something nice
quite an icy stare, yet a warmth that wants to hold you tight

my loss for words in the face of this alien
falls on deaf ears, as the sound of two gentlemen scoff in the distance
shocked with suspicion, the beautiful woman dissolves in an instant

“d’ya hear that? was that some kinda banshee?”
“nah, that’s a buck and a half if you ask me.”

a khaki-clad caddy grabs a loaded shotgun
“look over here! if you’re hunting deer, i am not one!”

“get off our turf! this ain’t no place to hike!”
“i’m sorry, just out here shooting some wildlife!”
“don’t point that thing at me! i’ll make you pay the price!”
“roger that, i’ll pack my bags and be way out of sight!”

i ran far to the edge of the water
almost falling, but was caught by the eighth world wonder
she’s going nose-to-nose with a bloke who knows no better
i’d say it was the twilight zone which i have entered

her periwinkle skin is speckled by the sunlight
iridescent prisms twinkle when it’s just right
she’s a hybrid like a mermaid and nymph is
but an insult comparing her to man’s fiction

“why do you keep following me?”
“i- i’m taking photographs, see?”
“does that hurt the animals?”
“no, in fact, it preserves their memory.”

“shhhhhhh…. are you a threat?”
“who? a hunter? no, i’m a friend!”
“you aimed that tool at me just like them.”

she cracks a smile, raises her eyebrow
adjusts her twig crown, and pleats her leaf skirt
it seems if anyone has a shot to take first
the time is now
and it is hers

“come with me,” she holds out her haunting hand
my trembles make the sand dance beneath these wooden cracks
in normal circumstances, i wouldn’t follow a such a floating ghost
but this almost feels like going home

she pulls me over the lake
and i thought i might break the tension of the surface right away
my mistake
‘cause i’m walking on water
glowing adorned with an aura
and for the first time ever, soaring into pure nirvana

wandering so calmly beyond the horizon
to a marshy wetland no man could reach by foot
the fog clears to reveal a small straw built hut
nothing but natural law and us

she snags a seat
wraps her hair around her cold toes
wood shavings cover the ground like fresh snow
as she whittles up a little duck sculpture with her fingernails
humming a melody that sings my mind to set sail

“you’re new here, what brings you to the forest?”
“purpose? passion? is it here you’re looking for it?”

“i want to take a picture that will grace the front of magazines.”
“nature is not yours to take. your ‘picture’ won’t be one of me.”

she stops whittling
she starts whistling
a yellow bird perches on her arm to take a listen

yes! what a perfect shot – artwork captured on my cartridge
“there, you’ve got your picture. did you get what you wanted?”

“they prowl, they shoot the fowl, they loot the fawn for fur.”
“but worst of all, i can’t allow for you what they did to her.”

she walks me through a hole
where the vines had woven layers of security unworthy of a secret code
where the understory’s dipped in gold from sun that shone
directly on a statue of a lady posed in stone

shoulder outward to shield her body
eyes open, face frozen, emotions left without responding
ponytail in the wind, like a true traveler
strapped around her back, an old rusted camera

“hunters aimed at a deer grazing and this dear lady was grazed gravely
before she even had a chance to feel the pain
i cloaked her in my saving grace. a relic, she remains.”

“every storm of commoners brings a calm that stirs the joggers, hikers and photographers.”

“oh, the horrors of this world called earth… every color’s a design meant to lure a curse
and hers was the worst.”

it is certainly no work of urban artistry
i feel this statue wants to talk to me
i walk up to the rock and knock, “h-llo,” thinking wishful
for naught but a waste of two syllables

“if only anyone came to remember her.”
“all i know is her face and this chronicle.”

“but i know this must be daisy”
“wildlife photographer.”

the winds rise to a squall in awe of it all
the marble cracks at every flaw that nature had carved
with every second on the clock, the stone woman unthaws
and in proportion, the maiden in blue starts to dissolve

as if to say h-llo and goodbye at the same time
salvia seems to vaporize in dry ice

“remember when your dreams fail to materialize
that miracles are more than fantasies that humankind writes.”

a dissapaiting glow leaves me in a daze, see i yell, “daisy!” and stare in amazement

“i heard a shot, is everything okay?”
“it is now. and i know who’s to blame.”

i dash up with my camera, and she tiptoes along
i got goosebumps growing under the grooves of my palms
i say, “hey, did you get any nice pics for your collection?”
“sure did! i’ll have to show ya once i get ‘em developed.”

to get her home safe, i look for a new way
when out the blue, the most beautiful blue jay
flew just a few paces away from my face
with the perfect pose, waiting for the perfect frame

i revel in the passerine bird’s magnificence
feathers have a texture like your grandmother knitted it
the detail’s so exquisite
as surely azure as the wind that visited when i most needed it

it tilts its head at me, lending power to capture
what you can’t with something man had manufactured, like a camera

and as it flies away, it carries the weight
off a man whose eyes just opened today

- mat4yo

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