Porcupine
by: Mary Oliver
Where almost done
the porcupine is to himself
I don't For years I have wanted to see
know but I hope that slow rambler,
it's high that thornbush.
up on some pine I think what love does to us
bough in some is a Gordian knot,
thick tree, maybe it's that complicated.
on the other side I hug the dogs
of the swamp. and their good luck,
The dogs have come and put on their leashes.
running back, one of them So dazzling she must be--
with a single quill a plump, dark lady
in his moist nose. wearing a gown of nails--
He's laughing, white teeth tearing skin
not knowing what he has from the thick tree.
Mary Oliver has never seen a porcupine. She's just imagines what an encounter with one would be like, and she envies her dogs for getting up close and personal with that dark, plump lady with a gown of nails.
I don't have a lot of energy tonight. It has been a long day. I've been trying to finish grading for my summer class, and I have quite a bit left to do tonight.
But I did write a poem today in response to Oliver's poem.
Saint Marty has always wanted to see a . . .
Moose
by: Martin Achatz
They are all around, like pine
needles or bracken or field
mice, but I have never
seen one with its building
of body, crown of branches.
They hide-and-seek with me,
staying deep in the forest
where the green heart of the world
beats. I've heard they walk
along lake bottoms, submerged,
holding the oxygen in their
lungs like buried treasure. That
is what I want. To see one
climbing from the surf
of Lake Superior, shaking off
water in great sheets,
gulping the fresh air. Like something
newborn, fresh from the womb
of God.
Not a picture of a moose, but she's still pretty cute . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment