- Vocation, and: 30 March
. . . I was saying I am terrified of swallowingan avocado pit, of having this big world growinginside me, of giving birth to a vocalization thatwould eat me, of choking on my own words that,once uttered, would commend me to the compost,hence my silence, even as I speak, so nothing grows.
The daffodils came outwith trumpets, announcingthey would start todayfor the Holy Grail.Poor things! Poor things!If it is to be,I plan to watch.Barefoot shivering creaturesat the foot of thegreat Norway spruce. [End Page 17]
Standing alone after the harvest,what is the point of dreams?
At some age,the world begins to drift away
The world is changedas you came here
The people you really likea lot will disappear
How many years of opacityhave led (like a barnyard dance)to this transparent moment?
Over the course of a life,why have I nowhere commentedon what steps were easy?
1) loving you —2) watching wild doings among the animals —3) standing with friends looking at sky —
easier than making a boutonniere out of old sheets!easier than hanging a new shower curtain!easier than my sudden life-changing switcheroo!easier than being Brueghel’s little brother . . . [End Page 18]
Mary Ruefle is an American poet, essayist, and professor. She has published eleven collections of poetry, most recently, My Private Property.