I went for a walk, on the road, in winter
the road was white, and snow –
covered, in snow clumps
crumbling.
there was a pine cone, flattened
bottom up,
top down
driven over
squished into the ground.
I have been that pine cone.
Sledding, (more snow) and clumps, crumbling
and bumps, tumbling
bottoms up tops down, sled
riding me the rest of the way down
until my face became brakes, red cheek on white
ground.
I have been that pine cone, riding my horse
I was afraid of the rabbit, for him
he was afraid for him too, but
he did the jumping
bumping me
and I did the falling, sliding, bottoms
up, and tops
down, white face on
green ground.
I have been that pine cone, planted in safe ground
scooped up, dumped down
the bottoms of life tipped
up, set away high beyond mountains, and
the tops tied down, there
red dust on red cheeks, spitting out
brushing off
new ground
careful not to touch
red bruises
(or green cactuses)
(or pale yuccas)
(or homesick memories)
But then I saw
bottoms up
this ground – this red dirt under fingertips
was living, and
tops down,
I saw the sky, a cup
of sunshine, poured top-down
to bring the bottom things up
even pine cones.
I read this last night and went to comment but I got as far as ‘Oh G. Wow.’
And I couldn’t think of anything more to say than that (and your beautiful words warranted more than an ‘oh wow’) so I accidentally fell asleep on top of my computer and dreamed about the writing and the words and the poetry and when I woke up, I had this on my mind.
True poetry is just-enough-poetry. Just enough words; not too many, not too little–the soul of a poem is in the choosing and the choice. And that’s life isn’t it? (Sometimes too little or too much but usually) Just enough.
So glad you + your words are a part of my just-enough-life.
LikeLike
Babe, your comments make my day. Every single time. Thank you for using just enough words to convey that.
LikeLike