Through a Glass, and: Cultivation

aim olmnh by BARBARA SMITH ?> THROUGH A GLASS A lunar moth props against the window pane, Its wings unbalanced, Braced against a vagrant breeze, Its fern-leaf antenna still poised but not receiving. The thermopane is sealed, and so the moth cannot come in Nor I go out. Six legs try for traction, shivering on the glass. The drama has just two participants— The lunar and me— And, of course, God— And I wonder at all fragility, All wings damaged, All grips slipping, All senses dulled, And wish against death of all kinds. CULTIVATION You realize living on the edge of the woods, Clearing away generations ofjunk, Making rows, where there used to be brush, For potatoes and wax beans and all that good stuff Plus a few purple blueberries in the back of your mind Allowed to grow just a little bit wild. So you read the good books and buy the best seed And fertilize with precisely the right blend, And you nurture the growing, taking pride in the pain, Until in broad daylight you admit the real scene, A new weed daily in a daily new place, Each stronger than the one before, Undergrowth escaping your weakening will, The greenbrier, the thistle, the crabgrass, the wort, And, worst of all, in the dark of the night, Animals Chomping and tromping and tearing to shreds All of the virtue you had thought to claim And that is the way, you are once more reminded, it goes. 3 ...