I have been thinking about this poem for more than a week. It was published in Santa Clara Review fall/winter 2001-2002, but I wrote it about a walk I took with my sister Kathy when my niece Terra was a baby. Terra is now 24 years old and has a baby of her own.
On Sunday, June 3, I was able to walk with the surveyor and my sister Sharyl across the farm, or across the approximate boundaries of my nephew's ten acres. The property is located about an hour's drive from the Pacific coast.
dream farm, dream sea
Poised on the cusp between winter and spring
Weird neon of skunk cabbage holds candles
In cupped hands. We move through memory, water
Skippers across the old face of childhood,
A landscape where moss
Knows no direction, will not point
North or South. Children dance
Bright faces silvery fish
Shafts of light, dark pillars of trees.
Air electric with birdsong. The pond
Blinks a green eye. We pass the baby
Between us. Her arms row us into the light.