Tarot Poem–Gifted by a Nomad


The first sign of spring up here in Canada arrives on wings, in hearts, in songs of poetry. This April/May 2015 arrived after a brutal winter, one that many around the world experienced in different ways as we cope with climate change. Here is my experience of the release of spring this year. I hope you enjoy the fresh flush on your face as much as I did.

Gifted by a Nomad

Dawn, the gatherer of empty bottles stumbles past

Humbled in her heart by her nomadic desire.

She is  not from here and trails behind her wobbling, clanking cart

A wake of memories : she once had a cradle to rock

a fire to set, bread to kneed

Now she collects these empties that will provide her coins

she needs to survive what this new day will deposit into her heart.

She pauses.

She sees a flock of geese

feathered foliage

arrows of intention

discussing open water on the lake:


The new-set flowers survived the night

lifting their fragrance

swelling the heart of a child

barefoot on the balcony..

She too pauses to watch the airborne patter of geese.

Morning springs to life in her watchful eye.

The landing on the lake is smooth,

like expert divers hardly a splash

though a startled carp flashes curved fin

while the Sun and the thrill of flocking

fill the heart and memory, teasing the tumbled thoughts

Of an old poet’s mind.

She straightens, brought up by the chatter of new-landed geese.

From a small paper bag she draws out two bagels,

breaks off a piece.

A morsel lands in the water

snapped up it is by the wily carp.

Geese gather

“And some for you.”

She sits on a rock to face the water

She has come here with bagels,


a decision to make.

She wiggles her toes.

She is filled with fire, bread

and a spring rose.

Though old she longs for more from life:

hope and sand and words that are her seabird song.

Two mounties approach,

their mounts glowing fire before a robing Sun.

Rattling snaffles and chains

“Are you all right Ma’am?”

She smiles at them, spreading new-sprung ferns to hide her toes

For vanity does not easily quit the heart of a woman.

A pair of swans scatter the clamour of geese.

On their swan-long necks they lift their heads towards her.

For these she frees the last of the bread.

“You’re not to feed the birds,” one mounty says.

Red-sleeved, they raise a hand


they trot onto the warming sand.

Not saddled with reign or bit

her soul soars

and though the stars seem to sleep

under the warm rays of golden dawn

she hears a nomadic song.

She closes her eyes.

She pulls the last morsel of bread,

cups it in her hands and bids

“Take, eat, this is for you.”

Then she opens her eyes.

The bread is gone

four coins rest

gleaming in her cupped hands.

She hears the creaking of a wobbling cart retreating.

She says “Meductic”:

it is done.

The day is begun,

swift as ship,

as wing,

as hearted leap,

as thought.

As the mounties and horses clear a fallen tree

the birds take their leave in a flap

like Jesus running on water

making the old poet laugh.

Not yet the hour to cross over to her grave

her old bones are glad.

The urgent nomad has gifted her.

She slips off ferns


wades into the water

skips a stone with the power

of releasing the Spring.

By Lutia Lausane, Copyright Just Peachy Productions, May 28, 2015

One thought on “Tarot Poem–Gifted by a Nomad

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