Make Haste Slowly

A female of Mute Swan carrying three of her six cygnets on her back.
Photo by Fabbbio

Four white swans paddle toward me, the one in advance called back by cautious brothers. 

She is the smaller of the four, intent on exploring, on following wonder—

most curious about black swans she sees guarding their cygnets across the marshland.

My rowboat forms the scene’s triangle edge. I drift, oars dropped.  Swans take my breath away.

These—young and old, black and white—double thrill me, and transport me to fantasy:

Am I in New South Wales, where black swans live? Am I in front of the Swan Lake ballet?

I am black swan, transformed into a trap though innocent beauty glows from my brow.

I am white swan, human in a villain's spell, yet I want to stay here, fixed and unfixed.

Here is retreat on un-iced salt water in a snow globe, a live backbone of sorts.

Restoration—if  not resurrection—rejuvenation, though I still grow old.

From here, I give everything—all prayer, all money, all space, all power, all health.

Surprise me daily, and see how I write.  Surprise me into life, slowly. Make haste.

A ride for two!  (2020)
Photo by Geoff McKay from Palmerston North, New Zealand

Written for earthweal weekly challenge: THE SWAN 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

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© 2022 Susan L. Chast