Poem by Lib O’Brien

Autumn Turning
 
beneath ancient cottonwoods
the marsh exhales green, brown—
dead grasses bowed by last week’s rain
 
spiky thistles, white asters,
red-tipped grass, wild strawberry,
weave together—alive
 
sunflowers droop with rot and decay—
one surviving bloom glows yellow
 
the living—the dying surround me like friends
newly ill with cancer—some bowing with its weight
some lifting their faces
 
autumn turning—warm, soft, slow,
beneath soughing breezes, Harvest moonrise
 
tiny purple thistles sprout gray down
slender brown cattails with caps of white fuzz
go to seed—no regret, denial, mourning
 
clouds of white-feathered grass spread
cross the marsh—tousled hair glows with light
 
like Bessie—on the tin porch,
her wet, silvered hair brushed
until it dries in the sun,
 
turning like the marsh—
calm, matter-of-fact, content
 
to hoe her beans, prune her roses
taught by many gardens to  honor sprouts,
harvest, decay—to begin again each spring
 
I, Bessie’s age when she tended me
as an infant, a young child
 
I, the drying lizard tail stalk—crusty,
flaunting  red and white berries on the tip,
nestled beside still-blooming mother flowers
 
in me, the pace of  marsh—
warm, slow, brown
 
no need to grasp or multiply,
only to turn, weave the weedy
thicket of my life—here, now

Gall and Horsetail by Miriam Sagan

white galls
on bits of twig
I wonder what
I’m trying to hatch
(often it frightens me)

galls are hard to the tap
inside larvae
will lie quiescent
all winter
give forth
picture wing flies
who mimic
jumping spiders–

I’ve survived this way too
appearing tougher than I am
although I don’t have wings
just my rough mouth

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horsetail

moon
3 days
past full
old scat
turned white
on the path

dazzle of dew
across a field
of feathery seeded grass
highway noise

segmented horsetails behind me
sectioned like bamboo
very old plant form–flowerless
(need to look it up)
once were huge
when reptiles walked giant
and what I call New Mexico
didn’t have a name

this grass might still be nameless
dew is difficult to write about
I need to avoid Tinkerbell fairy princess
or zen ephemeral life fades etc.
what is it–
more light than water

Haiku and Photos from the Wetlands

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Photos by Penny Truelock

NATURE’S  PALIMPSEST bu Ursula Moeller

seeds spangle grass tips
dew drops suspended from each
mouse winter harvest

chipmunk grabs grass stem
munches along its length
fat seed its reward

ephemeral wings 
drying in morning sun
slender dragonfly

meadow mushroom cap
pink gills hide underneath
harvest for dinner

cumulus clouds
disappear behind willow
never emerge

southwest winds blow
zephyr to gale
beyond our control

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Photos and hanging piece by Laura Mulry

Opening of Voices in the Leaves

Yesterday we hung the pieces created in the workshops at the Leonora Curtin Wetlands. Everything looked so beautiful! Linda Wiener catered the event (plus Michael G. Smith brought donuts–my favorite.).
About 40 people strolled through and looked at the art and poetry.
Hope to keep it hanging, weather permitting, for about the next two weeks. The Wetlands will be open Saturday mornings and Sunday afternoons in October.
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