Acorns

The oaks have
dropped more acorns
this year than anyone
can remember. It’s
like walking on ball
bearings, except
sometimes they pop:
a cap comes off
& one blank face
gains a split. It
must be lonely
having the only
mouth. Do you take
a breath? Do you
invent eating?
Do you look for
another broken soul
& improvise some
kind of minimal
kiss? But wait
a while: soon
everyone will awake
& turn & stick
a yellow tongue
into the earth.

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14 Replies to “Acorns”

  1. Yes, wonderful.

    We have an unusual amount of acorns dropping this year too. That ball bearings line is a nice description of that feeling of walking on them.

  2. You surpass yourself my friend. And moreover, in the future I won’t be able to tread on a fallen acorn without summoning your imagery. The squirrels here have an ambition to transform our croquet lawn into an oak woodland, and love trees though I do, I’m forever trying to thwart them. Tiny oak saplings spring up overnight, even though the parent trees themselves are a field away. It’ll only be a matter of time before they succeed. When we are gone and someone less vigilant gardens here, perhaps the squirrels shall have their way. I like that notion. Not ‘The Man Who Planted Trees’, but ‘The Squirrel Who Never Gave Up’!

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