Poem of the Month: August

Your Land

From the crest of this slope,

 it’s possible to stretch

your hand to the horizon,

to reach places only shadows

from the late winter sun understand.

Tuck your thumb behind those trees,

bare sticks from here but you can touch

the gum on their beginning  buds,

feel it loiter in the whorls

that signify that you are you.

Extend your fingers, flatten their flesh,

with each out breath you will reach

further, further... press down the hinges

knuckle by knuckle, allow

those short long bones to curve

around the hills, lengthen into the valleys,

let your skin merge with the earthy crumbs.

Don’t resist sharp edges of surviving leaves,

go gently on the youthful wheat that stabs

the surface of wind dried clay.

Do this often, once each season:

the creases of your palm

will become the map of your land,

 its contours a portrait of home.

by Marilyn Hammick