Aftermaths - by Amy Belding Brown

Aftermaths

"My apologies to the felled tree for the table's four legs.
My apologies to great questions for small answers."
-- Wislawa Szymborska

Last night a windstorm took two ancient maples
and shook them from the desiccated ground;
now roots rise bleached and tangled in the sunlight
amid shattered-branch confusion all around.

The world turned upside down is still our planet,
still to be cherished and caressed,
still to be well tended with our labor --
still the gauge by which measure we are blessed.

For peace is both the answer and its question,
sure as stars endure though never seen at noon,
and summer, tapering sweetly into autumn,
stills each long, embroidered, hungry cricket tune.

I will repent of making table legs from forest
once I have snuffed the candles, drawn the shade.
For now I'll tend the small fires of my courage
and dream a dawn-kissed river's twisting, silver braid.

October 1, 2001