Sometimes I write something good, so good even my inner critic is silent. This is one of those things. From a Sunday write with Tracey, Janet and Bryan.
Prompt is Backyard Song, by Diane Seuss.
Uncorking my bottled life,
shattering the glass against the rocks in the field corners,
laboriously placed there by pioneers clearing the land for tilling.
There are no wild places left up here,
but many tame places left to return to the wild.
The lilacs and daffodils still growing,
in the places they were planted,
marking the outlines of farmhouses and ordered gardens
now decades overgrown.
Join us. Return to the wild,
Say the ordered row of pines
whispering to me with breezes.
I can only laugh in response.
I can’t be truly wild any more than they can.
Roots too deep,
patterns too linear, too ingrained.
The most we can hope for is
There is no going back to corked.
The bottle is broken.
And wild ish is so much better than tame ish.