Three Poems of Shortage and Abundance

I am pleased to present three poems from my book, Healing and Conflict. They also appeared in The Weekly Avocet. 

The Wendigo’s Way 
 
The Wendigo is born  
in the hunger moon 
a cautionary tale of 
hard times and short supplies. 
 
Born of the time when frost 
paints the ground, he sees 
only shortage: seeks to seize 
what he wants from others. 
 
More than that, he is a cannibal. 
He glowers across a clearing and 
gives chase as you dash away. 
Forget your dignity. Run! 
 
Only the bravest soul hunts Wendigo. 
No chain can hold him, 
his hair a static electric shock. 
No fawn will gambol in his woods. 
 
Wendigo ate his own lips  
in lust for human flesh,  
but he was once a man.  
 
Remember that when  
you wish for just a little more. 

I wrote the poem “The Wendigo’s Way” after reading Robin Wall Kemmerer’s Book Braiding Sweetgrass, but the poem doesn’t do justice to her book. Braiding Sweetgrass is an exploration of right and wrong relationships to the natural world. She ends with a story of how to defeat the Wendigo and also a warning. Who are you trying to defeat? 
  
Rain 
  
Like a love poem that fills the heart to overflowing 
rain covered the mountain just after the New Year. 
Murmuring rivulets covered once dry leaves, 
intersected paths and muddied trails, 
muddied shoes and trouser legs. 
I plunged through fecund mud and leaves, 
became a mud man devSylvano sylvan gods. 
  
Glen Falls became a roaring torrent, 
deceived my ears. 
Thinking it close, I forged ahead. 
The cascade below the falls 
became a booming choir. 
Bases and contraltos reverberated 
from hickory and oak. 
  
I bowed before the splendor, 
prepared to endure cold days ahead, 
anticipated Equinox rebirth. 
 
 
Grace Note 
 
I got a talon in my hand once. 
It didn't go all the way through. 
Just a Red-tailed Hawk. 
 
“If you work with them, you will bleed.” 
that's what my mentor said.  
“Don't get careless again.” 
 
A Great Horned Owl  
grabbed another mentor. 
They had to anesthetize him.  
The man too, I suppose. 
As sleep took hold, the owl let go.  
 
“That bald eagle has  
1200 pounds per square inch. 
Just hold that glove high. 
Let her grab the fish and go. 
 
The golden eagle is an imprint.  
She sees you as a potential mate. 
Don't let her get too close. 
 
Always wear the falconer’s glove. 
It will protect you when talons rake, 
but not if the bird clamps down. 
 
That Barn Othough a sweetheart though 
gentle as a lamb, and always  
well received by the audience. 
 
Disinfect that wound well. 
You don't want it  
to swell up like a balloon. 
 
Are you sure you wouldn't  
rather work with the snakes?”