I have walked the garden
fence, morning glories
twining the pickets
like French braids adorned
with blue blossoms,
honeybees at their
daily tasks, pollen
the golden stockings
they wear as they wander
flower to flower.
And I have answered
towhee with his bright
whistle, jay with his grumpy
argument for a world
free of anything but him
and his illustrious coat,
orchard oriole invisible
in treetops, his glorious
song waking the world.
I have sat beneath
the maple, known
leaf dapple and whisper
of breeze gentling hair
along my collar, felt
the world gather itself
before the headlong
plunge into full summer—
bloom and bee, bird
and breeze, flaming,
fireworks in every being.
*
Lines Written Upon Approaching an 86th Birthday
after reading “Lines written in the days of growing darkness” – Mary Oliver
It’s true, Mary Oliver, the living
depends upon the dying,
and though the days grow longer
here at the beginning of February,
I must acknowledge that my days
are growing shorter. As with the years,
the hours fly past on wings, so that
rising each morning seems followed
almost immediately by bedtime,
scarcely time to prepare and eat
three meals, so few moments
for watching birds at the feeder,
their winter colors punctuated
by bright cardinal and blue jay, so few
hours for the words that yet keep
me company to spill onto the page,
though like all savory dishes,
even a small bite satisfies the soul.
*
Such Splendid Months
They are lined up one behind
another, each waiting its turn,
those splendid months that measure
our years—June with its lengthy
days of sunlight, aromas of roses
and marigolds, pavements steamy
with rain, and December when snow
softens silhouettes, burning logs scent
the air, dry Octobers of gold and red.
We are all leaning into time, bodies
braced for windy days, mouths hungry
for the first tomatoes, hands firm
against the bark of trees that shade us.
We are vessels waiting to be filled,
eyes swallowing distant stars,
feet moving over lawns, passing
along streets, slipping through time
with the grace of a spirit that lifts
us beyond these brief days.
photo © Megan Morris Photography
Connie Jordan Green lives on a farm in East Tennessee where she writes and gardens. She is the author of two award-winning novels for young people, The War at Home and Emmy; two poetry chapbooks, and two poetry collections, Household Inventory, 2015, winner of the Brick Road Poetry Award, and Darwin’s Breath, 2018, by Iris Press. Her poetry has appeared in numerous anthologies and journals. She is the recipient of a Lifetime Achievement Award from the East Tennessee Writers Hall of Fame and a Tribute to the Arts Award from the Arts Council of Oak Ridge, Tennessee.