Musician-Wren My mother, who today is just a coat hung on the line— let me be a musician-wren and nest in your pocket to sing you these fluted notes straight from the forest’s throat. _______________________________ Mama Amazonica 1 Picture my mother as a baby, afloat on a waterlily leaf, a nametag round her wrist— Victoria amazonica. There are rapids ahead the doctors call “mania”. For now, all is quiet— she’s on a deep sleep cure, a sloth clings to the cecropia tree, a jaguar sniffs the bank. My mother on her green…
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