what will be
November
has already
made husks of
what once was
aaaaI work fast
against nearing dusk
the sky charcoal streaked
untying stalks from stakes
vines collapse
withered fruit, now tombs
for cutworm, roll away
tired soil soon tucked under
sheets of russet leaves
my beds readied
for hibernation
aaaaI pause
cheek on rake
wood worn smooth
and want
my own gestation
deep silence
to swaddle me
stretch womb wide
a season of my own
making from what once
was cells inchoate coalesce
in increments of soil
gathering already
to ripen into
what will
be
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(Photo: Gene Wilburn/ flickr.com/ CC BY-ND 2.0)
Originally from Egypt, Mary Silwance lives in Kansas City. Mary provides workshops on writing and serves on the editorial team of Kansas City Voices. While her poetry and essays appear in numerous publications, Mary explores ecology from an intersection of justice and spirituality in workshops and at https://www.marysilwance.com. Mary is a recent attendee of the Bread Loaf Environmental Writers Conference.
Latest posts by Mary Silwance (see all)
- what will be by Mary Silwance - February 23, 2023