Monday, May 31, 2010

I have heard that walking is nothing more than controlled falling
We push off into a fall and swing the other leg forward to catch ourselves
And push off from it and swing the other leg forward again.
A stop, a push
And thus we travel along the ground as we do
Upright
I think this must be true.
Observe a baby learning to walk
Or an old person making her way along
And you see someone who is quite aware of the possibility
Of the fall with each step.
But most of us, we walk along and never think of
That fall we are controlling so well
Today I felt it though
Even as I felt very strong in my walk
But strong like a big lurching animal
Each step a plod against the earth, each fall
A bit of a distance back down and then a tiny
Thud
Well. It was a good walk for all of that plodding, thudding stuff
And I stopped several times to pick blackberries
And went to the little graveyard and left a late-blooming flower
On the oldest grave there.

Edward Albert Willie
1819-1905
Memorial Day

I guess I did my part
Or at least, as much as I can do.

I carried the blackberries, one exact palm-full
Gently cradled in my hand without crushing one
Only the merest watery ink of black sweetness leaked
As I plodded those hundreds of falls
And recovered from each one
Before damage was done
Kept myself upright
Through the woods and down the road
The sweat streaming off me
Holding the purple distillation of sun and rain
In my hand
Careful to protect them and myself
With each falling step
With each deliberate recovery

A human animal walking over earth
With blackberries in her hand.

9 comments:

  1. It is that brief season of blackberries. I remember those pies that my mother made and the home made ice cream.

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  2. Oh, I really LOVED this, all of it. Him and then you. How you carried through his poem into your walk, your life, your blackberries and gave it to us so perfectly.
    Thank you.

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  3. Fantastic -- really fantastic. And so vivid --

    I could see this as a children's book -- one of those weird, symbolic ones that children would laugh at and the adult reading it would smile inwardly --

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  4. Beautiful.
    And a lovely memorial day to you.

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  5. Delicious words, Ms. Moon. The "purple distillation of sun and rain..."; may those abide in the hearts of your readers each year at this season. Love, love.

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  6. These are some nice words! I love the way you put them together.

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  7. Great through line and I love the way you wove around it. x0 N2

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