KNOT Magazine
Fall Issue 2022
Lisa Ratnavira
Weebale Uganda
Red headed weaver birds, blue turacos
drunken monkeys and baboons
flowers draping on sausage trees
rain and clay earth
tasting rolex and matoke
sipping on Stoney and passion fruit juice
Papyrus woven with broad bill rollers and sunbirds in African tulip trees
friendly welcoming roadside markets
chimpanzees in troops
grooming, mating and caring for their young in between daydreams and building nightly nests.
Gaboon vipers and forest cobras are dangerously beautiful
Camouflage in Barongi swamp
lives the blanding tree snake
near gray crowned cranes, hornbills and paradise flycatchers
African forest elephants, leopards, hippos and zebras command observation and wonder
Trekking gorillas at the Bwindi impenetrable forest awakened an awareness never before unveiled.
These reminders to observe and be present
aware of natural wonders
and an appreciation for its power
Weebale Uganda
for these moments
we will hold in our memories.
*weebale = thank you
Observation at Mabamba Swamp
Among the purple lilies and the papyrus
Sitting in a canoe observing a female shoebill stork
Searching for lungfish in the Mabamba Swamp
A butterfly undulates by flashing orange, white and black
In the hot humid sun,
Bird calls of purple herons and jacanas surround us
The blue headed coucal balances this symphony
A purple heron flies above
Clap clap announces the shoebill
searching for watersnakes and mudfish
Elusive and commanding over 3 feet in stature
Her eggs and young fear green water snakes and monitor lizards
But once full grown there remain no predators
Except for mankind as there are currently only
10 adults with 3 babies amidst this swamp dense with foliage
The tour guides paddle us in with canoes remaining a respectful distance
Honoring and sanctifying this stork laden with gray feathers
Varied and adorning crests
A shoe shaped blue hued bill with a hook on its beak
for hunting and penetrating it’s kill, we remain
Observing, photographing, binoculars and cameras
Capturing and witnessing this moment, in the pearl of Africa
Within Uganda’s Lake Nalubaale.
(Lake Nalubaale means home of evil sprits and became Lake Victoria after her visit) (Mabamb means lungfish)
Muzungo = Traveller
God Bless you my people, my family you are the best team I have ever had in my life.”
~Alphar
“Be passionate, not just about money.” ~Alphar
“God Bless you, God Bless your hands, God Bless your pockets.” ~Alphar
Gorilla Advice
“If they charge, remain still, lower your eyes, act submissively, “
Ruboni Community Camp is a white spot:
A spot surrounded by nature, quietness and the authentic Bakanzo people. A particular spot on the world wide map without a connection to the world wide web and without connection to the telephone network. Our guests feel comfortable without the agitation and restlessness of every day life at home. You can be here, just to be.
An awareness of time the gift of it the limited allocation
How I can best use it being vs busy
More aware of my choices and how I will spend it.
Smells of Uganda: rain, clay, leaves on forest floor, earth,
Tastes of Uganda Posho, Muchaomo, Chapati, Rolex, Katoga, Chaloke,
Gorilla Permit $900
Chimpanzee permit $350
When Considering a Move
When one finds themself feeling root-bound
Or no longer thriving in their current position
Consider the bougainvillea
As their roots are quite fragile
And are extremely sensitive to disturbance
Prune about 30% of its stems
Thus avoiding the unnecessary stress
Of supporting a lot of foliage
With a smaller root ball
The mover must wear gloves
Being careful to support
This hot pink magnificent
Shrub laden with thorns
Not lifting it by the main stem
Transplant shock:
Can be due to insufficient roots supporting it
To try and save it
Move it into the shade
Prune, water, allow proper drainage
Never fertilize under stress
Watch for signs of reviving
You probably won’t get any blooms for quite awhile
It is not unheard of to take
2 to 5 years to fully recover.
After reflecting
Perhaps some adjustments
Light, nourishment
Removing excess foliage
And bloom right where you are.
A Psalm of Sibling Loss
Grief is my brother
The boy the same as me
so accurately described in American Sign Language
Only now I am an only child.
Grief lays me down in fields of sorrow
Leading me to solitary waters
drowning in my tears alone
Grief defines my days
Leading me into anger, survivor’s guilt, bargaining
denial and I fear the talons of death
The photos and memories of us
comfort me
as I try to help our parents
Attempting to make them proud with my
workaholism
showering them with gifts
Hoping your empty chair beside me at our table
remains unnoticed
to no avail
Grief brings me a lover
who shares my bed, but not my fears
She announces our pregnancy
and my parents truly smile for the first time in years
Do I name our baby after my beloved Irish twin?
or would this create a legacy of loss
A sorrow I cannot bear to repeat in our family
surely happiness and acceptance shall evade me
all the days of my life
and I will walk hand in hand
with this emptiness within forever
The love of my child
Unborn
gives me the hope to
love again
The way we loved
before loss
before this crushing emptiness
Perhaps
when this little hand slips into mine
I will once again
feel that oneness that left me, with your last exhale.
Perhaps his cry into this world
will reawaken tears of joy
that we once shared
our secret world our private jokes
our mirrored looks that only we knew
And I will learn to walk with this grief
and live these remaining moments with a compassion
only one who has lost their shadow can comprehend.
Mirrors
We are born loving them, trusting them
They are our first loves
our Alpha, our Omega
and all the letters in between
In time we judge more, love less
Disappointed with trust we question
the foundations we grew upon
In loving others
our affection for Oedipus and Electra
are replaced
They die loving us, trusting us
imploring forgiveness
From us not for them
We are left with a legacy
for our children to explore
first teachers, first companions
each the other’s reflection.
(Inspired by Faithless by Joyce Carol Oates “For this is a fact I’ve learned that has surprised me a little: we come to love our parents more as we grow older together, in a kind of jolting lockstep. Realizing at the midpoint of our lives, looking at them looking anxiously at us, My God, we’re in this together.”
(Published in Grief’s Labyrinth and Other Poems by Lisa Albright Ratnavira 2017).
Is it really time?
She looks at the snow covered San Jacinto Mountains
Asks me if that is really snow
she is seeing
I laugh tell her its
powdered sugar
She laughs too
expressing the warm hugs
she feels from these
majestic mountains.
She sips her coke
and tells me,
“My mind is like ice..
It’s melting”
I sigh,
tell her,
“Yes mom, it’s snow on the mountains.”
I sip my black coffee
our hands, our smiles,
our laughs
so mirror like
watching her memoires slip away
her confidence
like a ghost fading into a dream
what I would give
for things I once cursed
Like when she offered me
her lover Juan, younger than me
or smelled like
Canadian mist, smoke, and blue grass
when she tucked me in to bed.
Time
like my beloved sweet peas
has left us searching for Spring
so I may sew an invisible shawl of sweet peas
to cloak her mind in beauty
and pray only laughter remains
between us.”
Braiding Sweetgrass
The Sweetgrass
supple and flexible
weaves effortlessly in my hands
Her hair filtered sunlight silver emerging
slips finely and softly through my fingers; as I braid
the songbirds call out
robins, bluebirds, and spotted towhees
announcing Dawn
Beads of dew adorn the sage brush
musically she breathes, difficulty swallowing
whistles in each breath
My prayers fall gently upon these moments
in and out; roles reversing
like the interwoven braids
Tying together
time and laughter
until one slips away
in the echoes of birdsong.
(Epigraph: I was reading Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer and wrote this poem 3 months before my mom passed in my arms).
In Order to Reminisce...
Oftentimes, travel gives life
and with memories of years passed by
comes a longing so deep
the soul cannot capture it
These times, laden with images
of beautiful people encountered
countries discovered, flights taken
life birds and open spaces witnessed
the body remembers
all the awe and passions felt
and one by one,
with each photo, every coin and postcard
the traveler reignites
laughing and reliving
these moments
deeply embedded
within their dreams
those images
awakening their
desire to remain
in order to never forget.
Photograph by Neil Ratnavira
Lisa Ratnavira resides in Fallbrook, CA with her husband, wildlife artist, Gamini Ratnavira. Their art and poetry connect in her books: Maiden, Mother & Crone (written with Rae Rose and Penny Perry), Traveling with Pen and Brush, and Grief’s Labyrinth and other Poems (Garden Oak Press), available online at Amazon.com and Barnesandnoble.com.
Lisa is a regular contributor to the San Diego Poetry Annual and holds an MA from Concordia University in Irvine, Ca. She has traveled to more than16 countries, including Singapore, Sri Lanka, England, Africa, Bermuda, Bahamas, Bali, Trinidad, Panama, Costa Rica, Spain, Canary Islands, the Maldives, Japan, Canada, Mexico, and throughout the USA. Her sons Beau and Brooks reside in Japan and Fallbrook, respectively.
Her daughter, Natalie, is free from an earthly address. She often visits in the form of a dragonfly.