Her Giveaway Dance

In Spring she was Maiden,
white with grace, proud
with the surprise of new beauty.
She trusted her bud into blossom.
At the edge of the green,
a lacy dream.
One morning the whole tree
quivered in ecstasy.
Blossoms rocked with bees.
I sat beneath and let her petals
snow down upon me all day long.

Now this miracle:
flower to fruit.
How does she know
each perfect moment
to release her hold?
So clean. No questions.
Her twigs unsnap.
When an apple strikes
and rolls from the roof,
her rhythm of deliverance
slaps the edge of a djembe.
When one thuds
to earth: bass
from a drum’s center.

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Such a production
she offers so casually.
Her giveaway dance goes on.
For weeks we gather red bounty
everyday. We eat apples
for breakfast, for desert.
In fever we eat them
to become summer.
Still she dances apples down.
Each gift, a gesture,
a cupped breast.
Again and again until
her mothering is done.

Too unhurried
for humans to perceive,
she empties her harvest
and lifts her lightened limbs.
Winter rest will soon be hers.
Can the creak I hear
be her sigh?
Oh yes, an Elder’s
satisfaction.

©Susa Silvermarie 1995

I offer this poem in thanksgiving for the great bounty of Autumn Equinox!
Love, Susa

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