Le Bonheur*

Like oil, like sunshine
French seeped into our pores
we became willing captives of the natives
we pretended that what we had lost
wasn’t family or children
we pretended we had been here
as long as the islands on the horizon
and the wisdom inside of us
surpassed the leagues under the sea
and on the breeze each loss
was lifted and carried away to a place
we don’t know how to pronounce
once heavy stones, worn down to grains of sand
and like bees or butterflies
we sought nectar to sustain us
our only concern the weather
the flutter of hope beating its wings
against our insides
realised in consonants of a new language
we are just beginning to understand.

* happiness

 

Fifty

My faith is growing the same way
the garden has:
Quietly.
24 hours a day.
And there isn’t any pressure
only cycles returning
moon
sun
rain
through the eye of the sky
and slight movement, parts
extending
reaching
as if to convey: surrender.

 

If I Were Raised by Wolves

I would have had a pack
safety in numbers.
I would have roamed without fear
lived between the trees
dreaming of cloud-covered sheep
asleep on the hillside.
I would have been free of shame
true to nature
my eyes like stars
led by impulse.
My footfall hidden
a rustle on the wind
my voice amplified
in the bright moonlight
reaching the furthest
corners of wilderness.
Revelations discovered
in all seasons
through all weather
living in peace
a spirit without the need
of being understood.

Even if you had hunted me
you wouldn’t have been
able to touch me
even if I had been standing
right in front of you.
I could have been
exactly as I should.

I wonder, would you have seen me after all?

 

Walking Above the Lake

End-May, green like smooth emeralds
day blooming, thoughts
blooming
grounded
our hands, vines tangled
like Clematis clinging to life.
The road ahead bends and tumbles
a slide toward the lake
here
after a millennium.
We’re passing it new
and a pebble is caught
between my sole and shoe
piercing grit from the past
to feel it finally dislodge
is to let go a little
letting me feel at home here.

 

Spinney*

I discover another universe
where sun seeps and wildflowers grow

above, my eyes catch the tail of a rocket;
its sleek body thrusts—a swallow.

Like a telescope, I capture
what is hidden in the horizon,

an astronaut floating silently
through galaxies of flora and fauna,

encountering starbursts of petals—
pink, white, yellow—swirling in a vortex of wind,

shooting comets of bees and butterflies
every which way, guided by sweetness.

I walk between trees, planets inhabited by life;
they match the life reverberating within me,

something there that can and cannot be seen
with purpose and power,

miracles of nature, proof of God—or both?
How perfect to witness these things on a Tuesday afternoon,

a link to beings hundreds of years before me
carried home as dust in the soles of my boots.

* A small area of trees & bushes.

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  • TAK Erzinger is an American/Swiss poet and artist with a rich Colombian heritage. Her poetry collection, ‘At The Foot Of The Mountain’ (Floricanto Press, California), earned Whirling Prize for best nature poetry book from Etchings Press, University of Indianapolis, in 2021. Additionally, her creative range extends to audio drama, with her work ‘Stella’s Constellation’ produced by Alternative Stories And Fake Realities Podcasts in the UK.