If I were a child, I would climb the venerable
Pecan tree, in my backyard. It holds my world
in place, like the mythic Yggdrasil, whose roots
hold the world together ~ never to loosen.
Along a sturdy branch, I’d chat with the
squirrels, and share a nut or two from my
pocket, and wonder at their scampering leaps
into the space between twig ends of limbs.
Pausing here, I fall into my adult self.
Grounded, like a plane without fuel, altitude
lost, I recall losses irreparable. Settling
against the massive trunk, filled with the
rings of Time, I recalled that at the heart of
me is a fragile sprout of beginning.
The rough bark, wrinkled Time, reminds
me that I may grow again from here,
surrounded by accumulated years of
experience. I can learn the scampering
risk of leaping from stem end to stem end,
across the space of fear.
—Martha Ward
Shoot After the Storm by Amanda Webb
Past pleading for warmth
against the pain of cold,
the wintery wait, the weight
of the cold, persisted.
Slipping my arms along my
sides, I was surprised to feel
warmth radiating from my core.
Numbed hands felt their way under
my buttocks, seeking the supple fat
for their warm nest, cheek to cheek.
Head helmeted, in woolen hat,
only my feet numb, absorbing
the arctic air stealing in through
the walls, floor, windows. Rubbing
them together, only let me know
their ache. Moving from my shroud
of blankets, to find warmth for them
would mean, inviting the cold to wash over me.
I waited, I waited, then snow gave way
to the sun’s light. And, with it the return
of electricity. Feet arched eagerly, feeling
blood rush, trumpeting.
—Martha Ward
