The Day

what day would it be?  N. Scott Momaday

The day
was a tracing of leaves
young as I was, with their first green

their gloss
willing to cast themselves out and be
caught by sun and air

I sat beneath them in a rising
of twigs and green 
slender limbs drawn by the sun

all of us young, all of us saying yes
the leaves, the child, the slim trunks
and the light that held us

the air that said, come then
since you are willing
here is the door open

open in you
and all of us entered together
leaves, child, the young trees

as we began our lives
in the silt of a flood plain
a glint of sun and water

that moment with the wind still
and only ourselves
slow in the light

—Sarah Webb

No comments: