|
A walker strides
just past Sunday noon
along Carlstrom Road
skirting farmer’s hay fields,
below Bristol Notch.
Asphalt then gravel
ascend the short, steep hill
until the road levels out.
A hedge of wild rose
pierce the dense gravel
where
town road meets trim field.
Loud the barking of geese
winging high, distant
disappearing, appearing
beneath faded sun’s
dull crown.
Chevron wings pierce the air,
compact body bullet drops
a flock cleans
the last close-cropped corn.
Crisp leaves clutter,
bright parchments swirl.
For each, one dead one remembered
a poem line along the spine, for each.
First powder snow teases
a mist drifts
veiling the eyes,
blind, the poet listens
clusters of leaves scrape,
steady water
moves stones
down below Johnson’s saw mill
in New Haven river’s
old wide bed.
A hedge of wild rose
rises from the packed gravel,
wanderer pockets
oak leaves and round road stones,
a monarch
wings frozen in time. |
Wanderer, facing into winter
collects remembrances
with
one wild bush
facing into winter
bursting with tiny rose hips’
bright sour fruit.
One thorn twists
on slender stem
sharp prick endured
pierced finger, bleeds.
Perfect, innocent weapon
scrapes the vast landscape
of skin
electric alarm signals
as a single thorn
pierces flesh.
Focused in agony,
a loud prayer announces
the need
for leather skin
feather or fins’
protection.
Quick legs retreat
through the bare sapling woods,
past moose, owl, deer
red fox
silencing in autumn’s cloister.
Mother rose, puckered hip
protects drupes of seed,
pierced finger, rosary bleeds.
d. nazarawitz mortier
1999
|
