What was the sun to us then?
Certainly not a danger.
More like a daytime mother, wrapping us
in the warmth of our country yard,
where blankets, spread over pungent
meadow grass, smelled distinctly of
tanning oil, lemoned water, sweat,
and one large creek-wading spaniel.
Or like a most seductive babysitter,
promising rewards for patience, for
goodness, for goodness sake,
forsaking all others.
Even a little like the father we dreamed about
beaming and strong,
unaware that we were growing up
as sagebrush does;
and also growing away
from that desert spot
as sagebrush does not.
came after many trips around the sun.
Sagebrush does that.
No longer chooses to be loosely rooted
near one that shared its growth,
near one that appears too similar
to be noticed
for its differences.
After random tumbling on native soil
and in the winds on high;
after catching up, then feeling
snagged and burned and burning,
There is nothing new under the sun to us now
except this new sun is a danger, and
we are too different
to notice our similarities in
forsaking each other.
MLydiaM ~ November 2011
Submitted for Poetics at dVerse Poets. This week we are asked by Sheila Moore (in a post that is so beautiful it is much more a gift than a poetry prompt) to consider Changes: "What changes, big or small, have you experienced in life? Write a poem about one of them and share it with us . . ."