The Circuit I Walk

 

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Within the fullness of the universe,

the wind pounds past my ear drums

playing loud as flapping flags.

I can hear seagulls cawing

only if I muffle the wind,

only if I lie flat on the shore.

 

So much sand! I isolate one grain

on my right index finger, and shelter

it as if it were a candle flame.

The grain is the actual size

of NASA’s view and photographs

of the fullness of the universe.

 

In these photos, the multiverse

is silent.  It is long ago, long gone—

but I imagine a present hum—

a hum a Horton might hear

before its world blows out, before

extinguishing with a short poof.

 

Not yet, not yet.  Wind, take the sand;

Sea take the shells, shore, seagulls,

and let me wake-walk to be near trees.

I’ll lean my ear in to a red maple,

listen for the heart throbs

trees signal through the earth.

Sea and wind are too mobile—give me

something planted, something that

welcomes the crunch of shoes on leaves.

I wait to hear, ear to bark and arms

around trunk, pulling breasts, ribs,

and heart to the solidness of maple. 

Tomorrow I will risk the sea again,

and then return to deciduous friends.

In between is the pillow and the need.

for earthweal weekly challenge: 

AN EAR FOR WILD LANGUAGE

My blog poems are rough drafts.

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© 2022 Susan L. Chast