Disappearing Birch Forest

 

When I was a child, 

I thought the birches I knew 

grew on a mountain cliff.

When I walked the deer trail 

across its steep flanks,

I meandered alone,  

the woods held me safe.

I’d look through leaf lace 

into a drop studded 

with lollipop stick trunks,

walk the hillside trail

straight across at a slow rise.

I learned that a slant path 

can be the best way to go,

a lesson I try to remember 

when writing poems. 

When I return as an adult, 

the forest has vanished,

swallowed by a sandpit.

 

 

When I’m Gone

 

These words are for you, granddaughter,

a treasure map of history and myth

about a family that no longer exists 

in a world that has changed to something different 

you won’t remember the stories I didn’t tell you

or the wildflowers I never grew in the garden

or the jars or jam and fruit I never canned

or the pines, gulls and waves at Stella Maris

when it was a retreat house before you were born

when I still remembered family stories

when I still had four brothers and four sisters

when I still fed nectar to hummingbirds

when I still kept a wildflower garden

and I recorded our conversations to share with you

when Mother Earth held me on her lap

 

https://poppyroadreview.blogspot.com

 

Date Published: September 3, 2018