This
poem tells me it’s tame and local, but
wild
enough to commune with earth, air, fire,
and
water as if I didn’t exist.
Like
the red fox who moved her kits under
my
cousins’ backyard porch, it needs safety
enough
to move closer, but no touching.
I lay
my hands on pen and paper, and
the
poem laughs. That is not me! it exclaims
as
if it is a god I try to name.
The earth is at stake, it crows, not one fox,
one backyard, one sunset, one dogwood tree.
Could
such arrogance lead to unity?
Here
I sit among the tools of my life
frozen
between extremes of fight and flight,
while
an invisible force faces me.
A
big black bird lands on the nearest pine
and
waits. The wind stops, too, to see what’s
next.
The
roses need trimming, but I don’t move.
As
if I asked, the answer comes: Because
you wouldn’t listen, no one would, to soft
words from us and those you looked down
on.
We are all around you, waiting, sometimes
loudly, to be heard, to be respected.
I
fear breathing will break this magic.
But
as sun slips into night, and black bird
leaves,
I feel a faint breeze. Under my hand
the
words stand “Forget magic, we need you.”
For earthweal weekly challenge: CULTURE AND NATURE
My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.
If you quote, credit this page.
© 2020 Susan L. Chast
