walking
poems
by Shelia Peters
The real miracle is not
to walk either on water
or in thin air
but to walk on earth.
- Thich Nhat Hanh
1
all the things that grow
upon all the things that make
up the ground
beneath our boots
ragged rocks crusted with lichens
alpine heather and partridge feet
the tough golden grass lying
down to receive
bright leaves
secret seeds
i grew up at sea level
coastal sand trapped a mile inland
stirred by clambering frogs
pounded by children's heels
we leapt
from cliffs
and
landed learning
about
softness
and
the hardness of sand
in the damp drainage ditch
we'd pretend it was quick
sand would urge it to suck us
deeper in laughing
as our nervous feet
entered
secret places
all the
aching cold
toes wriggling
blindly
lost
when i walk into these northern woods
my feet upon unyielding clay
it is only myself i wish to leave behind
it is only myself i wish to lose
in these scrawlings
tangled across sheets
of carefully rulered lines
2
my water poem is hiding
in Sunday morning lists of chores
boys sprawled
large
and sleeping
upstairs
boys
growing whiskers through changed cheeks
dreaming
dreams of leaving
dishes tumbled
in the sink
they walk
through their eyes
days elsewhere
i button my sweater to bind the trembling
ridiculously
happy to hear a bed creak
one
turn and stretch into
his
own body's pleasure
i falter towards a new gravity
a
balance their first sprouting
flung
forever out of kilter
3
last week
i followed laughing
water sweating up
to the place where clouds snag on rock
my height snaps a delicate truce
(if
i jumped with enough joy
a
child leaping to brush the ceiling
my
fingers would i swear
shoot
through into bright air)
my length measures the distance rain falls
the liquidness of water sets my blood itching
i scratch at the weight of boots
below
water finds rest in earth's pockets
they keep each other's secrets
a gentle collusion (distillation)
a tonic freely offered
i accept dangling
afloat in a tea-brown lake
we laugh together (the water and i)
in midday sun
4
today
i ask much of the wind
here in the canyon
where it is usually reserved
a visitor
lover wind
inflate my lungs
expand my heart oh please
expand my heart and touch me
as you do
each pliant stalk of grass
each jagged rock
send juddering the clapper of my heart
strike me like a bell
to resonate in the generosity of air
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