Once in a blue moon* you find a poem that echoes sound and reflects light into some of the hidden places in your soul. Those poems cause the same effect in our souls that occurs in that scene in Legend, where Screwball and Brown Tom and Gump and Oona contrive to climb up the chimney and bounce a ray of rising sunlight from Darknesses' giant bronze platters, through the oogy kitchen, into the depths of his lair in order to save the Unicorns**. In this case, that is exactly the correct metaphor. One of the hidden (or forgotten) things about this scene is the fact that as those big plates are reflecting light into the convoluted darkness, so is the darkness being reflected out into the misty, sparkling, wooded world above. And that's ok. That world can handle a little darkness, especially if it's been aired out and had all the, well, 'Satan'*** sucked out of it, as it were. It certainly makes it more interesting.
The important thing is that the Unicorns are saved****, that the world understands that darkness exists, and that if we don't reflect a ray of light into that darkness sometimes, things can get pretty scary, and eventually the light will go away for good.
This poem was in my inbox this morning (I do love that Writer's Almanac). This poem is such a "Sam" poem. I can't explain why - whether it's the the rhythm of the words, certain phrases, a feeling that comes from the whole - I'm not sure. It's not one I'd choose to represent me, but it does, whether I like it or not. It definitely reflects a part of me that is, if not hidden, then occluded by a variety of smokescreens. It's a place where I'd worry about any stray Unicorns, that's for sure. But dark as it is, and lousy with goblins, black glitter and tempted, fallen maidens, it's me, and it makes me feel better when the world gets a glimpse and says "Yeah. Me too."
Hurray for good poems, and for crafty fairies - but ESPECIALLY for sunlight.

Snowbanks North of the House

Those great sweeps of snow that stop suddenly six feet
from the house...
Thoughts that go so far.
The boy gets out of high school and reads no more books;
the son stops calling home.
The mother puts down her rolling pin and makes no more
bread.
And the wife looks at her husband one night at a party
and loves him no more.
The energy leaves the wine, and the minister falls leaving
the church.
It will not come closer—
the one inside moves back, and the hands touch nothing,
and are safe.

And the father grieves for his son, and will not leave the
room where the coffin stands;
he turns away from his wife, and she sleeps alone.

And the sea lifts and falls all night; the moon goes on
through the unattached heavens alone.
And the toe of the shoe pivots
in the dust...
The man in the black coat turns, and goes back down the
hill. No one knows why he came, or why he turned away, and
did not climb the hill.

***
Poem: "Snowbanks North of the House" by Robert Bly,
from Selected Poems. © Harper Collins. Reprinted with permission.
Writer's Almanac

Much love,
and may you be a mirror.
-s

*luckily, I see a lot of blue moons.
**oh, and Lily too.
***yes, purist-nerdy-movie-nazi-heads, i know he was technically the son of satan, but you know what i mean. besides, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. especially if the tree is HELL.
****oh, and the girl too. *sheesh* dumbass. can't mind her own business, follow simple instructions. hmph. she's lucky there were some unicorns down there too, that's all i got to say.