Afterlives
Still you tower, revered progenitor
gone barkless and craggy, ancient citizen
of the sun-swept savanna. Riding you,
red-tailed hawks assay the meadow
for field mice while red-headed woodpeckers
mine their holes for insects snugged
deep inside your trunk. Often I've heard
the four winds play their breathy songs
through your time-carved reeds,
watched your shadowy gavotte with the sun
as afternoon leans toward night—
Are you rooted in some tree heaven, this
weathered husk your sole testament to light,
or linked inextricably to your savanna,
irreplaceable tessera in the mosaic
of bird, bug, and earth forever integral
to life teeming in and about you?
Continuance, answer grasses swaying,
termites feeding within—your legacy
flying, creeping, singing. Life and light
everlasting, not terminal rot. Old one,
stand while you may, then kneel as
our gracious Mother sets you forth anew.
Author: Darrell Petska
Website | On OMPJ
Photo: Jacob Amson on Unsplash
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