Poem from the Vault: Echoes of Stillness

Echoes of Stillness

The path to my childhood

leads to a field, bright with sun,

bread and memory.

Field grasses quiver

and the ground is hot and firm,

yet breathes like skin.

The waiting seems to last

life-long.

I feel prickly in the oven-heat.

Then the field opens, wide as the horizon.

My wet palms

receive the seeds, the scent of shifting wind.

Seedling becomes flower,

familiar with the gossip of insects.

The grasses speak with new confidence

and soon birth seeds of their own.

The sun bows and peers distantly

through the leaves of the trees,

whose sheltering canopy

flutters, groundward.

I press the leaves in

this book stained with sweaty fingerprints,

and continue

down the road.

[Originally published in Jittering Microscope #6, 1992]

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