Wednesday, July 21, 2004

I wrote a poem.

This is most definitely a work in progress.

Requiem for a Groundhog

There is beauty here, somewhere.

I drink. I pull
the smooth cobalt blue
glass from my lips.
Cold radiates
down my throat
into my chest,
across my back
and stops.

The field is the same
as it was before.
The weeds are still there,
tall and strong
and strangling
the thistles,
the tiny yellow
that taste like sour
dill if you eat them
they are still
the same.

Same too is the dog,
massive and magnificent.
His silver black snow
coat rises and falls,
Rustles with breeze
Is heavy with nature.
He's lain down now,
his back to me,
so I can’t tell if
His eyes are the same
(they were the color
of my glass).

There is beauty here, somewhere.

I watched the groundhog
fatten on thistles
and crabgrass
and pickle-flowers
From our kitchen window,
The wiry fur
difficult to distinguish
From mounds of
upturned earth.

They are joyful, groundhogs.

The earthen fur
is also the same
Wiry and dusty
But is limp-wet now,
so it also looks
sleek and elegant
Like mother’s mink
that I tried on once
but couldn’t wear
Because it was
too heavy.

The dog and I
(and the groundhog)
Are still the same
(and are not)
Sharing a space
that shouldn’t be
But is.

1 comment:

  1. Hi Lynn! I miss you at chorus. I kept your email in my in-box and finally read it and some of the entries on your website, didn't have time to read all. Your "Requiem for a Groundhog" is very thought provoking and beautiful. I have written poetry since I was in jr. high. I rarely share it, don't know why, but do sometimes; maybe someday I'll compile it into a book. XO Judy