Not a Poem
Just a talk about a tree; a madrone I found in the forest
It had a scar like me, and smooth red bark —
maybe lightening hit it in a storm one night
I run my hand up and down its silky side
Feels so good I put my arms around its trunk
to feel the whole thing
I’m not really a tree hugger; that embarrasses me
But what the hell, nobody’s around
I feel the smooth red trunk cool against my face;
the thick roundness in my arms
I glance up into the wild branches; into the rust and ochre leaves
Peace, quiet, fullness move through me,
In the darkness, behind my closed eyes, I wonder,
“Who are you, this roundness, this quiet strength,
this filling of the heart?”
“Are you really a great madrone in the forest —
Or some beauty of a Horse I know?”
Feels just the same.
(Two poems follow, originally written as one, about a horse and her friend and an unexpected bonding.)
The morning is still sharply cool
Sun’s not warmed all the spots around the corral
I’m walking through the dusty grounds toward Mystic
She’s devoted this time of the morning
to a feed sack on the fence
“Hmmm, — what’s to love about a dry chunk of grass?” I ask
I try to imagine — No luck.
I’m a little hesitant, looking at her,
but sure do want to touch two soft ears,
to have her greet me with a sideways glance and maybe
a gentle nudge
The sight of her warms something in me;
I feel giddy, excited, – can’t contain happiness.
I wonder, “Am I grinning a lot, or is this just happening inside?”
How does a Horse make you do that? …
…. Now, not to change the subject, but
I wish my pants were smoother.
Well, I don’t want to wrinkle her silky back, make it itch.
I don’t want her to be uncomfortable.
I want to treat her like a queen.
After all, she gives me rubies and sapphires and diamonds.
And I want to know, how do you return that?
Smooth pants are a start.
Anyway, later I’ll say, “hello,” rub her long nose, and then
slowly clamber upon her.
If I’m lucky I’ll take a ride, alone, in a very far away magical place
Where love kisses grief, & giant heart fills unending space
Yes, that’s it! A ride on a magical Mystic tour –
In the morning, in the sunlight, in the cool sharp air
—- around a dusty corral.
— Jan Lytjen