Mother’s Nature - Toni Bernbaum

[Larry Robinson]


Mother’s Nature

This morning, in my nightgown and bare feet
I took the smelly bucket of food scraps
out to the compost bin.
It was still, quiet and barely light.
I had given up the fight with darkness
trying to escape a mind
refusing to grant me exile.

I need the cool air to clear my lungs, 
the shock of wet grass 
after the first frost,
the squishy snake of soft soil 
curling  between my toes.

I’ve been kidnapped
in a city of worry 
 about my children

an airborn pattern
looping my mind 
like these ravens
squawking and beating their wings
streaking the sky with black
fragments falling over my head

I need a shovel to dig,  
some wood to stack,  
a broom to sweep, a toilet to scrub, 
a garden to weed.

I need the earth to kneel on
the buzz-by joy
of the hummingbird
the gaiety gossip of quail
the warmth of the gilded sun
to melt this frozen chest.

I need to lean against the bamboo
and learn how to bend, 
how to trust the peeling bark of the redwood 
the guaranteed habitat for worms and grubs
the basic instinct of a squirrel to gather
the honey bee to pollinate. 

I’ve lost the natural intelligence 
of my true nature, doubting
the light of my soul’s path
lost in the briars of not knowing.

I want my children to be happy
and safe
in a world that is dangerous and insane.

I need to just stop
here
in the wild of my own back yard 

admit what I can’t control
accept what is here 

in this, the only moment-
a gift bounding toward me -

down the steps, just a few feet away
landing like a stone, 

this fox 
and I
stunned like a still life 
in the shock of morning light

its delicate head 
tilts slightly, to get a sniff
front paw lifts
lasting
as long as any moment needs
to break the trance
change the world back into wonder

part the clouds
unlock the cage

its face,  gives me the look of a child
then turns with a flip 
flashing its tail 
into the vanished woods,

our racing hearts
shook the roots in the earth  
touching the edge 
of our joining

Mud between my toes 
the empty bucket in my hand, 

Don’t worry,  Mama,
do the dishes
wash the clothes, 
It will be alright.

      - Toni Bernbaum 
-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <http://lists.sonic.net/pipermail/poetrylovers/attachments/20260530/e80a8358/attachment.htm>