My Wilderness by Maxine Scates
Author:Maxine Scates [Scates, Maxine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780822988366
Publisher: University of Pittsburgh Press
III.
Nature
The huge maple, the one where the boys
pretended to hide a baby in the hollow of its trunk,
my dog nosing the blanket for one terrible moment
before it held nothing, where the older kids
used to swing from its branches,
has split in the storm,
one huge wing fallen, leaving the long rawness
of a wound. So many branches
still on the ground, the cherry promising each blossom
until the warm days come, until each bud
withers though this is nature which does not
remember itself unless you count the red-tailed hawk
standing by the roadway morning after morning
until someone takes the body of its wing-shattered
mate away, or listen to the jays shrieking,
swooping low at the cat after
he killed their fledgling. Did the birds miss
the fallen branches when they returned? I didnât hear
them for days until I heard the wrens singing, each note
like water falling over stones as I climbed over
a downed tree on my morning walk.
Truth is, I heard the words that praised me
then sent me on my way, meaning I want something
I cannot have, something I fear
Iâll never have, and if, and if I donât? Truth is,
I dreamed a line of mourners waiting to climb
several flights. I could see those inside climbing
to the second then third floors to a very small room
holding the coffin, and when I asked if
this was the right place I already knew it was
and did not want to be there,
wanting instead, or so it seems, to mourn the dead
I never knew, sorry for all the times I was not listening
when my mother told the stories told to her. Why
is it only now I am so sorry when they
have been dead all these years? How is it
Iâm pulling weeds out where the roses bloomed,
someone saying Make sure you pull them up
by their roots? How is it the peaches, dimpled, rosy,
juice spilling from their loosened stems,
are still falling overripe from the neighborâs tree,
thudding one by one onto the earth
on our side of the fence where the flies are gathering
to teach their lessons about slow rot and decay?
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