a hawk circles the tree tops
\nthe notes of a flute
\nbright tufts of sound among
\nlines and young leaves of poplar<\/p>\n
below
\nTam sits head down
\neyes on paper
\nlooking for words
\nJared stretches amid
\na splatter of sunlight
\nCorey on the edge of the path
\nintent<\/p>\n
I wonder at the stillness
\ndead leaves huddle among
\nyoung green ones
\nthat thrust from the earth
\nlike soft arrows
\na boy\u2019s sneaker rubs among them
\nthe leaves crumbling and
\nall around us
\nthe stones<\/p>\n
Leah, Lavinia, Elvira, Rosendal
\na small white stone carved with the letters MMG
\ninitials that shed their meaning long ago
\na secret now
\na mystery<\/p>\n
sitting among the stones
\nJennifer, Robert, James, Joshua
\nthe names go on and on
\nI\u2019ve lost so many already
\ncan\u2019t even remember the names
\nof all the students I\u2019ve taught<\/p>\n
the boys in blue shirts and
\nbaseball caps lean in and point
\nscratch their heads, whisper
\na bird keeps chirping and I
\nturn over in the crisp dead leaves
\nBrendan reaches up
\ntouches the thin slivers of
\ngreen needle above his head
\nand a child calls insistently
\nMommy, Mommy, Mommy<\/p>\n
my mother died
\nI have not been back to see the stone
\nmy mother \u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0not in that stone
\nbut in my mind
\nthe steam rises
\npotatoes roil in the water
\nsmall droplets condense
\nrunning down the window
\noutside she balances
\na basket of clothes on the rail
\nhands reaching up<\/p>\n
Justin wanders over
\nasks me a question
\nI say No my voice getting stern but I think
\nwhy do I say No
\nwhen I should be saying Yes
\nwhy\u00a0 do I say be still
\nwhen I should be saying
\nTake your restlessness and rise with it
\nuntil you\u00a0 feel the soft
\nfeather of the wind push your hair aside
\nuntil you see shadows of willow branches
\nwavering in the grass<\/p>\n
I should say
\nYes Yes Yes\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0move\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 do it all
\nbefore the names fade from your mind
\nbefore your mother\u2019s voice slips away
\na thin stream of water
\namong dry stones
\nbefore the hawk circles again
\nabove the trees<\/p>\n
reach out and touch the names
\ntrace them with fingers
\nas soft as the earth<\/p>\n
Leah, Lavinia, Elvira,
\nRosendal<\/p>\n
published in: a hawk circles the tree tops the notes of a flute bright tufts of sound among lines and young leaves of poplar below Tam sits head down eyes on paper looking for words Jared stretches amid a splatter of sunlight Corey on the edge of the path intent I wonder at the stillness dead leaves … <\/p>\n
\nWolf Moon Journal
\nMay\/June 2007<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"