Sunday, May 31, 2020

Flame Azalea




Appalachian native flame azalea


Flame Azalea  

At the top of the long grade,
through the rhododendrons and flame azalea

abloom in a bower,
I arrive at Grandmother’s side, yet once more.
“Depend on me,” she has been calling, 

from many miles away.
I step nearer. Tears fall.
Not another soul appears, here where crowds have been.
I circumambulate Her, dragons in the air,
Star magnolias blooming. 

I am here, I am here with Her.

At my little campsite, not a soul.
I fill my bottles with icy water and eat my lunch.
Not a soul but a big brown beetle in the bath.

I travel on to the church of the Lady,
Our Lady of the Hills, 

and am blessed with the talk of the gardener,
the magenta blooms of rhododendron so high,
encircling the bell tower, chiming on “one.”
Inside, quiet, lights and candles, and it’s Spring!
On the kneeling pads, at the pulpit,
lily-of-the-valley, iris, rhododendron, phlox.
Our Lady’s church blooming inside and out.
She gives me Her shy glance, holding the child,
and She is saying, “from pain blooms love.”

And finally here, by my son’s bones
mockingbirds raucous with things to say twitter all around.
I leave Bridgid’s cross, an offering to the trees.
My toes revel in the sweetness of wild strawberries.
The cattle are out on the sacred mound, 

under the apple tree,
new calves scampering to be with their moms.
Sweet the sun burns the scent into my being.
The flame azalea, bent by winter’s fierce storms,
reaches out to me in all shades of opening.
“Keep growing, Annelinde!”, they call. 

“There is still more.”

Annelinde Metzner

Grandmother Mountain
May 25, 2011

Every year, I return to Grandmother Mountain, near Blowing Rock, where I remember my son.  This poem is in my chapbook, "This Most Huge Yes."




St. Mary of the Hills
















No festival




Lake Eden, site of the Lake Eden Arts Festival in spring and fall


By the festival of the Nine Lakes, Lake Eden,
all is quiet.
No drummers wailing.
No grooves.
The wind blows, each night getting colder,
and all is quiet.
The grey fuzz of a gosling floats by with its mom,
the flock honking across the lake,
or at the sandy beaches.
No tents, no food trucks.
All is quiet.
Even the memories are cleared away,
Black Mountain College, the world-renowned teachers,
the egos, the intellect.
All is quiet.
History too has faded away.
O blessed reset of human life!
A chipmunk sits long on a stump,
eyeing me fearlessly.
Sunlight glistens on the lake,
no cries, no laughter.
Coming back to zero, breathing deeply,
letting it go, dropping all baggage.
Breathe.  Sigh.
Be silent but glisten like the wind on the lake.
Your breath, your being is enough for now.


Annelinde Metzner
Lake Eden
May 9, 2020



Lake Eden sky