Listening to the Land - Patria Brown

[Larry Robinson]

Listening to the Land  

The presence of the land is undeniable,
yet something has been taken away. We
Listen to endangerment in your voices. 

It seems like two hundred ardent winters
not to mention spring. So much that has
passed through your veil, that our eyes

Soften as we climb over our fallen fence, 
over your field. You say the bunch grass
grew shoulder high where the laurel bay

Trees spotted soft curves. We whisper
under the shelter of the immense oaks 

as you rustle leaves and giant acorns.

In the darkening, you make us weary
and quiet. We breathe and we listen. 

You tell us inside our bodies is a place.

We imagine violet changing into indigo
light floating breathing to blue wafting
into green. We listen to their breath turn

Gold falling into orange. You are Spirit
turning into deep red. We look to your
east and see sunrise over a grove of

Lemon pepper trees. We listen to the great
horned owl eyeing a field mouse scurrying
through a meadow. How can we be certain

Of our efforts to protect you, great Spirit?
Will our attempts or our witness come to 
anything? You are connected to ancient

Flocks of geese rising with noise like one
of my hurricanes. We will know death but
not the end of our acts. We leave pride

As we listen but not hope. In the south,
you bring us noon. The red-tailed hawk 
lands on the buckeye tree with a whoosh.

We hear the sun bear down on your fallen
branches, the seeds that we shall gather.
What tears us apart? What spurs us — 
 
The keen division you insist is working
against the outspoken wishes of our 
elders? We hear that we are separate

>From herds of elk with tremendous horns
grazing in masses. Spirit, we know you 
are the land, feeding hungering animals,

Watering the thristy water. You watch as we
imagine deeply our illusion of security, 
not 
the sanctuary from the cycle gnawing at us.


We come angry, never toiling in Spirits’ loving dance. 
In the west, we see you set the persimmon sun and
charcoal streaks in the sky. We see your jackrabbits 

Burrowing to escape the sight of bald eagles gliding 
over our heads. What did you make evening for? 
Drawing near to one another, we find comfort. 

We witness all there is to fear: mountain lions, 
bobcats, coyotes under peaceful boughs of 
olive trees. We are caught in the palms of your 

Creatures’ hands, leaving afety, but not friends. 
You blanket the northern sky at midnight to cover 
raccoons, possums, and the silver shadow of the 
moon. You hear water bubbling from the 

Sea. Spring brooks, ponds, even lakes, filling rivers, 
falling into valleys under the clarity of stars. We humans 
dream together, as you build a mountain of twig and 

The black earth as we sleep, Our prayers braided, 
laid down at the altar of change. We leave begging
to climb, not to fall.

	- Patria Brown