The Cruelest Month
- Details
- Written by Eve Moore
The Cruelest Month
Is it predate
or pre-date,
this primal part
of living life on this planet,
perhaps others,
for eons?
Perhaps one
arrangement of
letters belies the truth
of the other.
How far back does
this necessity to
kill to eat,
to feed
go?
Even the green blood
of the plant is not immune;
it, too, is spilled to slake
the thirst of life as
we know it to
keep living.
And how far into the future
will it continue
to turn the
wheel of
existing?
I saw three
beautiful birds
of prey newly killed
on the road yesterday.
An unusual quantity
in such a short stretch
of travel, but then this is
the season of so much
emerging, taking of
life in both senses
of the phrase.
Their enormous
feathers gleaming
in the early spring sun.
They were slaughtered by
cars as they attempted to prey
on smaller creatures making their
lives along this trafficked highway
flanked by its small wilderness
of woods — not enough
habitat for those whose
range would be far mightier,
just enough to accommodate
the teeming whose nature
cannot be contained.
Thus, far from wild,
it is far too concentrated
a tract of non-human
intrusion, and upsets
distribution between
eating and eaten.
So much that was wrong
with this picture. So much
that, despite this, is right,
according to the natural
law of balance on this
plane teaching
balance.
Give and take.
Offering and
accepting,
opening
and closing.
Forming and
ceding form.
Teaching
acceptance
of the tick, the
mosquito, the
poison ivy, the
coywolf and red-
tailed hawk as
readily as
the violet.
I found a deer tick
on my flesh yesterday,
post gardening, and today,
mid-April, it is snowing
— accumulating.
Teaching that
April isn’t cruel,
that the tick is just
a tick, making it’s
way in the world
as I am, you are
— if I choose
to understand
this to be
true.
Enlightenment
isn’t an end. It
is a beginning
only ever just
begun.
waves on waters,
petals folding,
unfolding,
clouds
gathering,
part ways
for a
spell.
A journey
that births
itself in the dark,
as so much life does,
here, taking one through its
unlit depths, ground, grounding,
finding passage
to the light.
Again,
again.
This is what the
daffodil tells me.
She is not shy
in her brilliance,
having had so long
to rest with the question
of rising and falling,
of holding light
in the dark.
And so I take
her counsel.
And I rise with
her to the light
of this question,
this quandary, this
specter of killing
in the spectrum
of life and its
living overlit
by this day
that like all
that lives,
will end
as ever a
beginning
borne of
starlight.
∞/∞
Eve Moore ©2021
© Photo: Eve Moore
Eve Moore: Once a professional writer of advertising, I saw the light & it has shown me words of a different nature. And so I take them down & offer them up. And all is well.
For more of Eve Moore's amazing and heart centered poetry and writings, click here!
http://www.crystalwind.ca/eve-moore
“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.”
—Jimi Hendrix
This poem/prose was submitted exclusively to CrystalWind.ca by Eve Moore.
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