Perhaps maybe isn't such a bad word. Maybe perhaps is.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Transmigration (with Tania P)
Perhaps life passes from one body to another to rise again
and look out with refreshed eyes. So pods and fruit appear, only to be plucked
by a child’s greedy hunger, or, shaken by a breeze, to reseed the earth for
another season – populating farms, towns and cities where words once thrived
with meadows of silent grasses and golden poppies.
Maybe the poppies, so credibly orange and famished red,
signal the child, urging her eat the fruit within reach, not necessarily the
ripest, signposts of the planet’s collusion to fade memories of stars, wars,
lovers and lakes traversed prior to this birth, city, this mother, the slats of
past in place, gated, peripherally viewed like the black legs of Thoroughbreds
sidling before the bell.