The sun has chosen one piñon to exalt,
one tree from a forest of others,
as when, in a film, the camera will select
one face to focus on, one girl
to follow in her progress
through her soul’s adventure. And now
a mountain bluebird has alighted
on the topmost branch of the piñon
like a Christmas angel—and now
the bird has flown, carrying away
the sanctifying ray of light, so the tree
is once more just an ordinary piñon
among others. And the girl,
without the auteur’s gaze, is star
of no one’s movie but her own
with no beam of light to hallow her,
no camera to peruse her face, her every
gesture with the eye of love.
—
Born in Baltimore, Maryland and married to a native New Mexican, Jean Nordhaus lives in Washington, DC but sojourns frequently in Taos. Her books of poetry include The Porcelain Apes of Moses Mendelssohn (Milkweed Editions) and Innocence (Ohio State University Press.) She is currently Review Editor of Poet Lore.
200 New Mexico Poems 