Absorb Salem in the morning
steeping in fresh dawn.
It is lush here where spiders thrive.
Brittle are they who make homes of dreams
we don't remember weaving through the night.
Some weeds, thorny and stretched,
deserve their space.
Bitter vibrant blossoms are their compromise
for pushing out a landscaped place.
A moment is preserved in this valley
where those delicate float on sugared air
as Salem mornings serve breakfast
for the soul,
where the green of the land is foremost caressed
and we are second blessed.
The life of this town is encapsulated now
so a bigcity person must plot carefully
to save the energy morning brings.
Nightpulse is offered at a slight pace
and beehive people who cannot dance through
sunrise feel smothered.
But the secrets found while walking alone
and shaking fronds with a fern half-human size
bring a crazy peaceful prayer to mind.
A waif could be caught here in morning
leaving at eve
Written for MeetingTheBar: Critique and Craft ~ Oh, the Places we Live! — at dVerse Poets. Pamela Sayers is our host this week. From her beautiful home in Mexico she asks us to write about the places where we live. My poem is an old one, written in 1977 after I first moved from Nevada to Salem, Oregon (the state capitol).
The original title of this poem was "For a Stop-Over Place," because I did not intend to stay long. Ultimately, however, I lived there for eight years before moving on to Portland and then eventually to my beloved Silverton, Oregon, 15-miles away from Salem. (I do not think I could do justice to Silverton in a poem, at least not today.)
Images of Salem and countryside via: Bing
Image of youth in downtown Salem via: Wikipedia