Thursday, May 22, 2014

She will take you

She will take you

You want to go out with her, you say, and I will say, “She will take you”.  
Your hurried mind quips silent, “I’ll not be had!"


You are uncertain.  
She walks with you,
To the now tall, damp, grassy meadow, flanked by birch, and maple.

In silence, into the stand of beech and birch, 
So close you feel an intimacy,
Not yours, theirs.

She shows you slugs, and you recoil.
Your mind is getting quieter now
Are you beginning to see?

Busy mind:  
Wants to make this a tear. Not a slug. 
An eye. Not a scar.
Busy mind:
Sees two fleshy tentacles bearing eyes at their bulbous tips, waving dark eyes to see you.
You are starting to see the beauty, the fawn, the dapple, The delicacy, the graceful slide into your perception. 

Your changing perception.

You are here.
Here now, where the young grey bracken is greening in the sun,

Here, where the violets spread their yellow, and you are Amused-
Amused, that something yellow is called violet.

She will break the silence only fleetingly,
To tell you, 
To tell you only, that,
North American First Nations used sarsaparilla  
To make bitter tea. 
Tea. Used to treat heart pain, their stomach upset, 
Their toothaches, and sore throats. 
When the infections came, and they did,
They rubbed it on their skin. Infections cleared.
When pneumonia struck, the whole plant was used, 
Swallowed in a stock,
But its fruiting stalk stimulated lactation.

You did not know. 
You are seeing now.
You are here,
Somewhere, from some long time ago, you remember, 
You remember the tiny stars,
You had forgotten to see them,
Forgotten to look for the Trientalis Borealis.
Forgotten to see the star flower.

You are here now
Where the granite yields to pine, to columbine, and to blueberry,
And blueberry yields to moss.
Here, where ferns and lily of the valley grow at the base Of the pine,
The pine grows at shore’s edge,
Along with goslings closely guarded by parents.
Unseen but known.

How can this be?
How can something as mundane as a mustard flower
Or saxifrage
Or the soaring of a vulture, whose shadow cast down, Caused your upward gaze

Capture you?
You wonder if you have been had.
But your now quiet mind knows
You will never be had.