Sunday, March 22, 2009

A Walk in March

by Grace Paley May 28, 2007

This hill

crossed with broken pines and maples

lumpy with the burial mounds of

uprooted hemlocks (hurricane

of ’38) out of their

rotting hearts generations rise

trying once more to become

the forest

just beyond them

tall enough to be called trees

in their youth like aspen a bouquet

of young beech is gathered

they still wear last summer’s leaves

the lightest brown almost translucent

how their stubbornness has decorated

the winter woods

on this narrow path ice tries

to keep the black undecaying oak leaves

in its crackling grip it’s become

too hard to walk at last a

sunny patch oh! i’m in water

to my ankles APRIL


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