2018
The cold is leaving my bones
A stirring is seeping into my limbs as the water navigates the verdant humus and downfall.
I laugh to my self thinking, another year.
I look around at the young shoots that are bursting toward the sun.
Which of those bold beginnings will be here when I have taken my last
breath?
What do they want to learn in their haste towards the sky?
Do they notice the blackened scars on my torso?
Will they appreciate the deep lines in my face?
Which ones will give themselves up to the cleansing fires that will forever
change the landscape?
Do they know they are there to house the young and old?
How will they feel when the bear scratches their skin looking for
sustenance?
I will patiently wait for them to ask.
So much to learn, so much to give.
Deborra Marshall Bohrer
