Today on this last day of April it’s cold and snowy. It makes me think of what I have been told about the day of my birth, cold and snowy. But that was in the city of St. Louis in February. As is often the case, this is not the poem I thought I was writing. It began with the recollection but soon took itself in another direction. I like this process of discovery, following words where they want to go. I always find what was just waiting to be found.
it began deep in the heart of winter
in the city
but in the city
many streets crisscross,
there are so many people, so much noise,
it’s easy to get lost and
never find your way back home again
some people forget till
gradually home fades from their memory
and streets, people and noise
crisscross from today into the past and the future
and being lost is the familiar way
but if you listen, some primal voice or
re-member-ance tugs at you,
urges you to face the cold and hunger of winter
to find the hidden foot-path
that leads someplace vague, yet, comforting
the foot-path from the city
becomes the road across open countryside,
into the mountains and beyond to the sea,
long byways of spring and summer
farms and orchards, ever greening
stars outnumber people,
the wild is faithful to its native voice
and your thoughts can sort themselves out
from the crisscross
the city, the winter where it all began,
when you were so young and unknowing,
gave you roots and sustenance
till you were ready
to find your way back home again.
© 30 april 2019 phyllis boernke
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