What sort of grandmother
when water and sky are swollen, gunmetal gray
and the egret wading in the marsh is a white that makes
everything else in the world recede, and the slightest
motion of oar, trailing hand, or leaf creates a wake
that might circle the globe and return to lap
this particular silence as heat transforms
to needle the sky with lightning, and day
plays starless night,
takes the child,
yes, with a lifejacket, in the kayak
and shows her the wild peace of the world?
And who's to say which is fossil
and which is living creature leaving its mark?
--Rebecca Okrent from Boys of My Youth
I hope you find yourself leaving your mark today. More Poetry Friday with Donna over at Mainly Write.
Well, being a grandmother, this is what I try to do, as my grandparents did for me. Dori, it's beautiful. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteSo lovely and thought-provoking. This snippet makes me want to read more of the collection.
ReplyDeleteThis bit: "the slightest
ReplyDeletemotion of oar, trailing hand, or leaf creates a wake
that might circle the globe and return to lap
this particular silence" leaves me breathless! Wow!
Wow! This is gorgeous. I felt that my mother did this for me. I hope to carry on, and this poem really inspires that. I love this poem. Thanks so much for sharing it!
ReplyDelete