after words

Barley flags, and oat
wave from untilled destiny,
tilt pregnant on May wind.

Stand me centered in the thistle blooms,
purple till they burr; sagacity
to spare, they hook a barb to ride
the passing hide of hare, or hair of dogs,
the stiff black lab’s, the shepherd’s tan,
the mongrel damp of strays,
the musk of does with Asian eyes,
their scent, like a sword
slashing through my browning wilderness,
and cerise-blossomed vetch, and eucalyptus. 

Flags, lean as far out as you’re able
with your seeds gone gold that hold green
generations’ stems, roots, leaves, fruit.

And when you pull up from your several thousand bows
to learn I am no more than a mere “she”
wearing a long bone frock with indigo-
printed stems, wearing crepe skin
too thin, now, too hairless to secure
a burr’s barb - I will wave back,
being the sister who stands, unrooted,
reliant on your grace.

.

[after Pablo Neruda's "Oh, Earth, Wait for Me" from Isla Negra, A Notebook]