Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Those Days

When I think of her I think of the long summer days

She lay in the sun, how she loved the sun, how we

Spread our blanket, and friends came, and

The dogs played, and then I would get restless and

Get up and go off to the woods

And the fields, and the afternoon would

Soften gradually and finally I would come

Home, through the long shadows, and into the house

Where she would be

My glorious welcoming, tan and hungry and ready to tell

The hurtles gossips of the day and how I

Listened leisurely while I put

Around the room flowers in jars of water-

Daisies, butter-and-eggs, and everlasting-

Until like our lives they trembled and shimmered


We become what we love. Mary’s partner, loved the sun, and now she shimmers everywhere. My dream is that my ashes, or perhaps my unchemicaled body in the ground, will grow into a towering tree. Birds will eat the seeds of my soul, will nest in the hollowed cavities of my body, and fledglings will tremble as they grab one last time my upper branches before they fly away. The trick is how to become tree now. And the ultimate magic is to know I am the tree now. This means though that I must mourn not just the death of my friends and lovers, but also the tree felled and the bird captured. For we live everywhere, in everything, and everyone welcomes us home to our planet.

Where do you feel the most welcome?

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