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Photo © 2024 Jennifer Wagner |
The arms and hands
of my grandfathers, grandmothers—
the gnarled roots—
my history
a map on the earth
I step over
so as not to disturb them, leave them
as they are, unmarred by my boots.
I’ve tried to clear them
so widely,
intending to be unencumbered
by what held them, too.
In my youth
I believed it could be so.
But now
I have walked a mile or two,
or how ever many thousands,
and my feet ache
with the heaviness
of trying.
The tripping, the falling,
the climbing back up.
But these I’ve been given
have led me to see,
and to sit basking
in the whispering of paper-thin leaves
teaching me how
to speak gently to myself
of forgiveness,
even more now my own necessity.
Because I am what I am
made of,
and my own stories
will fall, I hope,
like a gentle covering
for those who walk after me.
On a surface level (if you will) the image at top puts me in mind of the big walnut tree in my back yard, whose roots break the surface just like that. I have pretty much memorized where the roots are, and haven't been tripped up in a long time, but I do use them for boot scrapers when it's muddy out or it's mulberry season and the fallen berries get on my soles.
ReplyDeleteYour poem, though, isn't about surfaces at all. I love the way you normally stick with the time-honored poetic subjects of love, death, connection and disconnection, and nature. Moreover, you say much more than your economy of words would seem to be capable of, but in your hands, there is always depth and for the reader, satisfaction and emotional recognition.
At times in life you feel your legs heavy with the trying...your poems are so light but poignant and this one reminds me very much of Mary Oliver. You are a wonderful poet.
ReplyDeleteThis is soo beautiful... I especially admire this part; "But these I’ve been given have led me to see, and to sit basking in the whispering of paper-thin leaves teaching me how to speak gently to myself." 💖💖
ReplyDeleteI love the elongated tree-like shape of this poem, Jennifer, idea of a person’s history being a map on the earth to step over, and ‘the whispering of paper-thin leaves teaching me how to speak gently to myself’.
ReplyDeleteJennifer, your narrative is as gentle leaves of your stories falling. Love the whole analogy. I also like it in a literal sense, the idea of trees as our kin.
ReplyDeleteSo much said, and left unsaid, Jen, histories (half-hidden) to trip over or to be sheltered or blessed by, and all conveyed so wonderfully with this beautiful extended metaphor of roots. The closing wish is rendered all the more moving for its simple, familiar imagery. Love it!
ReplyDeleteI especially love: “basking
ReplyDeletein the whispering of paper-thin leaves”
I see myself sitting there, listening.