Take this stitch, this little green stitch,
take the second stitch, turn it sideways,
remember how wind blows prairie grasses
this way and that. Eases the mind,
reminds the observer about the sky
Earth lives in. Everything on the planet
more circle than line, moves zig zag.
Picture the hawk riding thermals,
think of the wave seeming forward
but pulling back. Somehow the beat of
the heart feels round as though it could be
comfortable held in the palm. Blood veins
and arteries so seldom really straight.
Think of head and eyes, junction of joint
with joint, knobs of bone and how tendons
wrap. A rope may be stretched straight but
it’s braided, strand curled over strand,
a snake can move only by twisting,
thought grows by exploding in all directions.
By Grace Marie Grafton
Grace Marie Grafton is the author of six collections of poetry, which can be reviewed on Amazon’s site. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area, with a redwood tree outside her kitchen door and a native live oak next to her deck. Nearby are red squirrels, raccoons, salamanders, and (never seen) mountain lions. Other of her nature poems can be found in Canary (online), Peacock Journal (online), Third Wednesday, Poecology and The Common Ground Review. Her book, Whimsy, Reticence and Laud: unruly sonnets, is rooted in her love of nature. She has taught for decades with CA Poets in the Schools, frequently taking her grade school students outdoors for their poetry lessons.
Photo of salsify among prairie grasses by Weldon Schloneger.