Monday, November 14, 2016

Walking

Getting up, I dreamed already
of walking in the woods--
those few miles stashed
in the crooked arm
of Route Six and Torrence.
I had to wait 'till after school
and taking out the dog, and even then,
even walking leaf-incensed paths,
I still felt a'jitter toward myself
and the world.




Three others passed,
one wielding hiking poles and striding
shcrunch, shcrunch as if the trail
were more than a mile, as if she were
an arrow tight for distant heights--
and two gingering along, a man
and a woman who carried a broken shoe.
When next I saw her, both shoes were off.
She went so gently, touching the world
through soft black socks.

2 comments:

  1. Please never stop being Elena, this marvelously attentive, beautifully patient poet who gives us poems such as this one.

    First stanza: I like "leaf-incensed," a lot. And I think that many of us, alas, are all "ajitter" toward the world these days!

    Second stanza: The arrow simile is just superb. And "gingering along"!! I don't know why, but the closing image of the last three lines, as you present it, gave me something like a sob of awe, inwardly. You've taken this detail and imparted to it a numinous significance, somehow.

    I almost never dispraise -- sometimes there's a grammatical hiccup that might need looking after (not here!) -- and the reason I almost never dispraise is that you rarely if ever give me a reason to!

    I'm very moved by this poem. It was surely not your intention to be prescriptive, but I say: Let us all "go gently," touching the world more softly, more tenderly, more reverently.

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  2. I agree with Thomas! I think this one will need to go in my journal...a touch of grace in these days.

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