The oaks have
dropped more acorns
this year than anyone
can remember. It’s
like walking on ball
bearings, except
sometimes they pop:
a cap comes off
& one blank face
gains a split. It
must be lonely
having the only
mouth. Do you take
a breath? Do you
invent eating?
Do you look for
another broken soul
& improvise some
kind of minimal
kiss? But wait
a while: soon
everyone will awake
& turn & stick
a yellow tongue
into the earth.
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- Ab Ovo
- The Origin of the Exclamation Mark
- Screw
- Cursor
- Shark’s Tooth
- Acorns
- Book Match
- Toenail Paring
- That Button
- Stone
- Thorn
- Knots
- Knob
- Fulgurite
- Coin
- Sugar Pill
- Peach Pit
- Eyecup
- Asterisk
- Bullet Casing
- Nipple
- Indicator Light
- Salt Crystals
- Asterisk (videopoem)
- Fish Hook
- Oak Apple Gall
- Pearl
- A Thumbnail Taxonomy of Rivets
- Wingnut
- Baby Carrots
- Computer Chip
- Thimble
- Lentil
- Blastocyst
Oh. This is wonderful.
Glad you liked it!
Wow. I love this one, Dave. Those yellow tongues.
Thanks, Beth.
Yes, wonderful.
We have an unusual amount of acorns dropping this year too. That ball bearings line is a nice description of that feeling of walking on them.
Wow, even down in Texas? I wonder why?
One blank face gains a split. That’s wonderful. I love this. I like the ball bearings allusion too.
Thanks, glad that worked for you. I think I kind of stole the split-in-a-blank-face idea from the Daoist classic Zhangzi.
Like this long tactile tongue of a poem.
Thanks. I don’t usually go quite so heavy on the enjambment but it seemed to work here. Hadn’t thought of the poem itself as a tongue, but good point.
You surpass yourself my friend. And moreover, in the future I won’t be able to tread on a fallen acorn without summoning your imagery. The squirrels here have an ambition to transform our croquet lawn into an oak woodland, and love trees though I do, I’m forever trying to thwart them. Tiny oak saplings spring up overnight, even though the parent trees themselves are a field away. It’ll only be a matter of time before they succeed. When we are gone and someone less vigilant gardens here, perhaps the squirrels shall have their way. I like that notion. Not ‘The Man Who Planted Trees’, but ‘The Squirrel Who Never Gave Up’!
You’re telling me you prefer playing croquet to watching a forest grow?! Maybe you could improvise a new game involving acorns.
I’m very bad at croquet, I get thrashed by eight year olds! I think the squirrels know that and therefore imagine me to be a pushover regarding their plans to turn our garden into a wood!
Heh. Actually, I love the game, and always figured it was a good thing I never tried golf — probably would’ve become a total duffer.