Decades
At ten I
walked my dog
to the
far end of the farm
where a white
rabbit
was just turning
brown.
At twenty
I taught in a far
land. So many new words
I kept
trying to learn.
At thirty
I graduated
from
graduate school,
certified
to teach words
on my
own.
At forty
I wanted my song
to be
like the Cañon Wren:
joyful
cascades flowing down.
It would
take a long time
to learn what
I needed to learn.
At fifty
I looked through
snow where
a blackbird
sat in
the cedar limbs.
At sixty my
life as a teacher
wound down—most
of our
children already
flown.
I turned
seventy in Guatemala
When the
fog lifted, Nita and I
found the
Quetzal bird together.
At eighty
I revise my life—
new
garden, new songs, new
branches cascade
over the wall.
—Donnell
Hunter
29 may 2012
No comments:
Post a Comment