The Garden Man

I wrote this poem in response to the sculpture "Garden Man" by Bob Turan at Art in the Orchard. What I love about this piece is how the figure's body becomes whatever is behind him. He's solid yet transparent. He's static, but when something moves in him, he seems to move, too. He's also making an opposite gesture from Mount Tom (seen in the background), which makes him seem to me like another mountain watching over the valley.

The Garden Man

Today a dog and three people

passed through my heart.

The apples were ripe

and they’d come to pick.

They didn’t see me:

I am everything they already know

but I welcomed their motion

in my stasis of green.

I was made to shelter growing things,

not to move them.

And in the sheltering

I become them.

My arms are squash blossoms

and the apple-laden orchard.

My legs are the soil,

my shoulders the mountain.

The blue above is an opposing force

as I lean into the road, the grass.

My head is the sky.

Transparent to the valley, I breathe

green life. Yet even though

my muscles are made of air,

everything with wings

seems beyond my reach.

After sunset

I change completely,

become a bone—

starlight for marrow.

The moon crosses my mind

once in a while.

Fireflies and bats

keep their distance.

What we are made of defines us:

for me more than most.

Usually I’m a lens—a frame—a container.

But today a dog and three people

passed through my heart.

The dog ran, the people gathered fruit.

They didn’t see me

or know me

or need me

and in those moments

I was free.

Feathers from Home

In Costa Rica, we saw many birds, insects, reptiles, and mammals that were colorful, exciting, and exotic. But there was also something special about seeing species that live in New England for part of the year. This prose poem is about a few of them. The "hourglass" refers to the shape of the Central American isthmus that all migratory species funnel through if they travel between North America and South America. Since I don't have photos of any of these birds, I've included one of the boots that are so helpful for walking along muddy rainforest paths.

Migration

Seen from the air, the “rich coast” is a rough-hewn jewel. On the ground, it is a busy rainbow: thin neck of the American hourglass through which all migratory species must pass. Hello, wood thrush! I saw you last in New Hampshire. Ruby-throat, did you visit me in Hadley last year? Oriole, I have never been to Baltimore, but maybe you’ve perched in Boston? Old friend red-tail, it’s so good to see you. I will look for you in May when I am back and you have also flown home to nest.

Boots at Tirimbina Biological Reserve

Creatures and Wonder

In January, I was lucky to spend 2 weeks in Costa Rica with a biology class from Westfield State University. We visited 4 distinct ecosystems with vastly different flora and fauna, and saw an incredible amount of wildlife thanks to our fabulous guides and the immense biological diversity in Costa Rica.

This is one of a few poems that I wrote during and after the trip. It's in blank verse, my favorite form for narrative. Also, this is the first time that I've included a link in a poem before, but the lizard mentioned is so cool I think you should know about it. All the other creatures you can look up on your own to learn more if you want. Enjoy!

Red Eyes and Pink Eye

After the third day in the rainforest
your eye swells up. You have been touching frogs,
stroking smooth green or speckled backs after
your guide disappeared to the midnight pond,
then returned with a jewel. He showed you the blue
streaked sides, the red webs between tiny toes.
He knows how to hold so they won’t struggle.
That morning he caught butterflies in nets,
held them in his hands, showed you their secrets.
The curled antennae. Front legs that can taste.
The wing where a bird took a beak-shaped bite.
The next day another guide explained birds:
Iridescent hummingbirds’ hide and shine,
woodpeckers tapping trees as a message.
By the pond you heard slap slap slap as the
Jesus Christ lizard ran upright across.
At night she took you to a field, turned off
the flashlights. You saw lightning bugs and stars.
She told you about pheromone ant trails,
owls’ faces shaped like satellite dishes
for better hearing, extra eye membranes.
You went to bed full of caiman eyeshine,
tadpoles, black-and-blue-striped skippers. You woke
eager for papaya, coffee, put in
your artificial eyes without washing.
So after the river float—the howling
monkey monsters guarding trees, iguanas
sunning themselves pleased as rocks, the toucans
flapping red, yellow and black through green leaves—
your beloved eyes ached pink, oozed yellow.
At la pharmacia a young woman
tells you to apply ointment twice a day
and chamomile teabags for swelling.
You are not a creature of the forest:
you’re a creature of grace and gratitude.

Rufus-eyed stream frog

Flowers in November

This is one of the poems I wrote for the 30 Poems in 30 Days fundraiser. It's also included in the event anthology published by Center for New Americans. When I sent this poem out as a thank you to my sponsors for that event, my dad wrote back and asked if witch hazel blooming in November is a sign of climate change. Nope — there's no need to worry about this particular plant. This variety normally blooms in the fall.

Hamamelis virginiana

In November
you can still find dandelions
blooming, half buried
in dirt and gravel by the road.
In the woods, witch hazel
waves gnarled petals
every cockeyed way at the sky.
Bare, gray or brown is everywhere
you look, except for these
tiny yellow messages.

30 Days, 30 Poems, 30 Plants

This November, I intend to write 30 poems, each one about a different plant. Why 30 poems in November? It's a fundraiser for the Center for New Americans in Northampton, MA, which provides education and resources to immigrants and refugees. Why plants? Because I love them, I've been writing about them for years, and I enjoy well-defined writing challenges.

A more-than-head-sized head of lettuce
from Mountain View Farm in Easthampton.

Some people like writing in forms (sonnets, villanells, etc.) because the form gives them a parameter within which to explore difficult or unruly topics. The structure of a writing time period has a similar comforting yet challenging effect on me and my creative process.

If you'd like to help this project, please donate (and ogle at a giant head of lettuce) on my fundraising page. And if you'd like to sign up for the challenge yourself, do that here. For locals, there will be a reading on Wednesday, December 5 at 7:00 p.m. in Stoddard Hall at Smith College.

Many thanks for your support, whether in dollars or in spirit!

Atheism Billboard 2

Here's another poem inspired by these atheism billboards. This poem was also influenced by an article (that now I can't find) about how technology isn't inherently egalitarian. Some people like to think that more access to technology will solve all our problems, but until we work on ourselves and our society, technology will still reflect personal prejudices and societal inequality.

On the First Day Man Created God

So what? “Man” has created many things.

Tape measures, Big Macs, hula skirts ...

God, however, is still in development.

God beta was divisive and unevenly

distributed. God 2.0 was supposed to solve

everything & put love first.

Now interactive multimedia God promises

true equality, etc.

Wanna bet how that will turn out?

Atheism Billboard Pulled

I wrote this prose poem last month after seeing this post about three billboards put up in Ohio by an atheist group. They were pretty thought-provoking (and controversial, as we might expect).  The title is based on the billboard's message.

 

Reason Is a Virtue

We are as mice. Someone always wants us dead. Only in the garden can we be safe, but that place has been lost to us—if it ever existed beyond legend. The wheel turns, the hand of one who hates us cracks a whip. They tell us a story with a before and after, but the sun knows better. There is only turning.