Saving Grace

The foliage is so dense a view
is difficult and anyway, the contest

for my attention is purely aural.
Back home, my studies honed

my filters to identify species,
delight layered with names

and habitat, the native songbirds
winning the gold, while the usurpers

–European house swallows, brutal
colonizers–earn my contempt,

the losers. And here, even the
flitting feathered cousins I know

sing in a different symphony, new
secret woodwinds and persistent percussion.

I give up. Higher, entering space. At last
my spendthrift tricks unriddled–

I’ve wasted all my currency
filing the world into categories

and kingdoms. The past poverty
clinging insensible. And still

today, the prodigal returns
to her roots: the curious child thirsty

for joy. No need now to classify
this frightening place with the hope

of gaining some control. (Out of time,
tired, cluttered space, depleted)

shed today like a snakeskin.
I’m sitting with my banks brimming

wide open as the world
comes twittering in,

the opening salvo accepted,
the big brass band bursting behind.

The invitation clear, my instrument finally
in tune, I become song, sure

my part is necessary, and
I belong in this mystery,

the music running through, cascading
round the spiral helix in this newly

revealed field. Look and listen, but
mostly harmonize: we’re all in

this together, whatever
it might be, it’s happening now.

Today’s Prompts: ¬†Spendthrift, View, Contest, Difficult

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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