Weekly Poem 12-22-15 The Black Forest

The Black Forest

 

Birds speak like children eager to be heard

Louder and louder until one dominates the conversation

Where water rushes, eager

to reach the end.

 

Here, where a woman is digging

her old body heaving shovels

of cow scent earth. She

pauses looking at her black land

her house, the upper level a barn

to keep her warm.

 

Nearby, a chapel sits, the

doll’s house model of the baroque

twin towers in the village.

A crucifix hangs on the door

White against the trees

Rangy pines, darken

into shadows.

 

And I think of the person

who planted these,

I imagine it was you

who crept between

the logging machines,

pushing seeds down with your thumb.

 

I try to remember when

these forests touched

in every walking place.

I close my eyes

And you are not here,

 

Yet I know,

I know the sky’s color

Would race down

and embrace us

like it has for us

in spaces before.

(from 1988)

This is a poem I wrote while in the Black Forest in Germany. The speaker is an immortal being returning to place of significance. It’s also a poem about missing someone I wanted with me on my travels.

REMINDERS about WEEKLY POEMS: If you decide to use my poem somewhere, please let me know, credit the author, and link it back to my website. Thank you!

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