Poem of the Month: August
Your Land
From the crest of this slope,
it’s possible to stretch
your hand to the horizon,
to reach places only shadows
from the late winter sun
understand.
Tuck your thumb behind those
trees,
bare sticks from here but you can
touch
the gum on their beginning
buds,
feel it loiter in the whorls
that signify that you are you.
Extend your fingers, flatten
their flesh,
with each out breath you will
reach
further, further... press down the hinges
knuckle by knuckle, allow
those short long bones to curve
around the hills, lengthen into
the valleys,
let your skin merge with the
earthy crumbs.
Don’t resist sharp edges of
surviving leaves,
go gently on the youthful wheat
that stabs
the surface of wind dried clay.
Do this often, once each season:
the creases of your palm
will become the map of your land,
its contours a portrait of
home.
by Marilyn Hammick
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