Aunt Leaf - February 18, 2010
Needing one, I invented her-..
Dear aunt, I'd call into the leaves,
and she'd rise up,..
...and whisper in a language only the two of us knew
the world that meant follow,..
and we'd travel
as cheerful as birds
out of the dusty town and into the trees
where she would change us both into something quicker.
At day's end she'd leave me back at my own door
with the rest of my family,...
...this bone dream,
this friend I had to have,
this old woman made out of leaves.
The friends that I conjured up as a child were always birds. I'd walk in the woods and talk with them, and make up songs for their ears only. I longed that they would talk or sing back just for me. And they did. They came to me in dreams and gave me visions and flew me around the world upon their backs, showing me beauty and wonder, and death and suffering too. In my young adult hood the birds usually came to me as an albatross, who would land next to me on some island paradise, and hold me in his or her arms. I'd cry and be comforted by this great beauty that knew my worth and who watched the world from up high and knew the worth of all my kind. It is only in recent years that I have become the albatross in my dreams and on days full of grace, I am also the fish or some detritus scattered over the ocean's surface upon which I feed.
Which nonhuman form do you long to be? Why?