Thursday, October 6, 2011


[In a tiny corner of western Poland, a forest of about 400 pine trees grow with a 90 degree bend at the base of their trunks - all bent northward. No one is sure why.]


I once was young, and had my strength.
I woke up rested. Of course I knew
someday it might run away, like a dog
slipping out the gate, but I never guessed
it would feel this halt. And the props
I counted on -- smarts, hope, friends,
nature, art -- I can see they are
impermanent. Yet still I want this
body, all it manages without my bid,
muscles which try to respond, hunger
which comes and is appeased, tears
that burn and somehow clear memory.
I want to be inside here, and I even dare
to consider sharing it, trusting her to
step around my debris as I grant her
respect for her own jury-rigs.
Older women know how to go on
and hand out love like biscuits, tuck
this in your pocket for tomorrow.

© Maggie Jochild, 6 October 2011, 4:25 p.m.

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