I was raised by woods,
swaddled in ferns,
bristly oxtongue sandals,
clothed in pine needles
and black earth.
In the winter I became trapped,
sometimes digging through the snow for hours.
Tears freezing in my lashes, I would think
of a warm house with a fireplace.
Now I live in cities and towns
where the acrid air infests my lungs
and there is never not noise.
Distant neighbors are the wildlife.
But when I visit, the woods reject me.
They send mosquitos and gnats,
images of snakes and bears,
to drive me away.
So now I am in between worlds,
homeless limbo
dreaming of that golden green
but lost in grey cement,
and brown and red rust.
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