Saving Seeds

Image

A bean, uncurling from the gut,

rose up, shedding clothing

and was born. A girl to her mother’s 

mother’s mother’s place– for thousands of years–

a customary place, where every

rock, snow and animal 

had kept its first name.

The sky, in every season was

the only book. Heads bowed

as hands worked,

dough kneaded by daylight,

baked by firelight. Each loaf had

its own ritual and nourishment.
 
When the time came, 
 
when thousands of years 
 
seemed long enough
 
in Disappointment Place,
 
pictures were taken of the house
 
without its colors.
 
The decision that
 
the language wasn’t worth saving
 
set everything adrift.
 
Last words, dry and hard seeds, 
 
were pocketed and counted
 
blindly. 
 
*I didn’t quite make it to 30 poems in April, National Poetry Month, but I will keep at it into May (and maybe beyond),
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