She said

look no further than now

for your answers

they lie in the etched lines of your palm

as clear as river water, as trees begin to reluctantly lose their leaves

and carpet tired grass turns with auburn shade

birds flock in thickening swells above, seeking, seeking

somewhere further flung

another season lowers her crimson skirts in slow motion

gradual as a lover taking your hand and leading you to bed

a season for every emotion they say

wisdom to be had in the pockets of time

riffle through, as you would your father’s outdoor coat

big and heavy like slung beast of burden

penknife, stolen dice, half eaten chocolate

festooning glittering wrapping of a life

just as his father carried binoculars and said

look Candy, do you see the hawk? As it pierces rinsing cloud

and dives plummeting, for prey

the yellow glint of its feathers a burnt knife against

setting orange sun and the familiar smell

of clay pigeons and fox musk hugging

tall everglades and poison ivy

his hands deeply cracked with outdoor life

as my father’s, as my own.

I carry in my pockets a note he wrote

in miniature writing as if by reading over and over

I can summon time in reverse

what would I say? Or would I just point

up the hill where mist lies low and hungry

and we’d set off, strong backs in our family

the upright approach and determining furrows

there for generations

spoiling for a chance to tear out of still photos

and disappear back into the wild

7 Replies to “Soothsayer”

  1. As I sat outside on a warm night just gone dark
    A visitor from the wild
    An opossum about its night rounds
    Stopped to look at me and scurried on
    On a hot afternoon, from the same seat
    Watching two turkey buzzards
    Spiraling up the road-generated thermals
    So high, seeming effortless, not a wing flap
    With sharp eyes scanning for critters of the wild
    In need of cleaning up

    And on the Greenway
    Wary rabbits watch the walking or running humans
    And a woodchuck looks and disappears
    A heron rises from the creek
    All of them little more than a mile from WalMart

    And I hear that coyotes and raccoons
    Run in the streets and alleys of our great cities

    The wild is not just in far forests and mountains
    It is our neighbor
    And it watches

  2. Oh Candice, your words sent tingles through my spine …
    “I carry in my pockets a note he wrote
    in miniature writing as if by reading over and over
    I can summon time in reverse”

  3. I can feel the bittersweet nostalgia of this piece. The whole poems grabs you yet this one line stood out for me with the most vivid imagery – “another season lowers her crimson skirts in slow motion” Such a great line, dear! <3

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