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Posts Tagged ‘morels’

Season

 

 

 

Where yesterday

there were no morels

today there are—

 

dozens of them,

small blond bouquets

in the grass.

 

I think about kindnesses.

How sometimes

they arrive

 

out of what seems

an absence.

How in that absence

 

it seems impossible

to believe that kindness

will ever return.

 

How delicious

the morels were tonight

in the cream,

 

so earthy, so rich,

so generous.

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Woman and Field

Mom, he says,
it’s been raining and sunny,
and do you think the morels
are up yet? We go walking in the field
where we’ve found them before,
but they are not there.

How many times do I walk
in my mind to the places
I’ve found some sense of purpose
or conviction, only to find them empty?

Finn finds a rabbit’s foot in the field,
the leg bone still attached.
It’s lucky, Mom, he says.
We leave it where it is
and let the luck follow us if it will.

And perhaps it does. Today,
everywhere I turn in my mind
I fail to find the answers I want.
But what shows up is a softness,
a fertile field in the unknown where I can rest.
It feels rainy and sunny at the same time.
I can almost feel something deep
inside pushing its way up to the surface
ready to be found in its own time.

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