No Matter What - June 13 2021

 

No Matter What

June 13 2021

The grass seed has taken

in the freshly made bed

of rich black soil

I dutifully prepared.

Tiny stems are poking up

and at their most vulnerable;

but greedy for sun

and sending roots deeper

they are quickly gaining purchase

and strength.

All it takes is light and rain,

and this patch of hard bare earth

will be verdant and thick.

Parsimonious nature

doing more with less.

The life force

that cannot be contained.

A small imperfect lawn

carved from the forest.

Trees encroach

weeds worm their way in,

deer graze

among frost-heaved stones.

The dogs roughhouse relentlessly,

a groundhog's been digging its home. 

Life and death go on

regardless.

In the wet dark season

mushrooms will flourish and fruit,

in a high summer drought

the grass will wither and brown.

And dandelions, no matter what;

so beautiful in their prime,

so ghoulish so soon after.

Creative people, as well as athletes, describe something called “flow”.

In athletes, it's when time slows, your mind is clear, muscle memory takes over, fatigue disappears, and your perception is not only sharp but wide angle and detached.

For me, in writing, it's this timeless unrushed receptive state in which the words mysteriously appear and I simply transcribe them: a feeling is like automatic writing, or taking dictation. Time passes like nothing. I recall once, in winter in a cold house, having an electric heater under the table warming my feet. I was so oblivious to external sensation that I ended up with a 2^nd degree burn on the side of my lower leg!

All this to say that this poem is a good example of that almost mystical process. It came out pretty much as is in about 15 minutes. My first instinct with these “easy” poems was always to imagine they couldn't be any good. Nothing good comes so easy! But I've come to realize that the best ones are just as likely to appear this way – perhaps more – than through the sweat of countless revisions.