The sound of porcupine teeth
in the oak’s crown,
as lethal as mistletoe.
Ahead of me on the path,
the tracks of three deer
braiding and unbraiding.
I reach inside my coat
and find a twig. It’s happening
sooner than I thought.
Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave’s writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).
(Haustorial: of, relating to, or having a haustorium. Haustorium: “the appendage or portion of a parasitic fungus (the hyphal tip) or of the root of a parasitic plant (such as the broomrape family or mistletoe) that penetrates the host’s tissue and draws nutrients from it.”)
I love this poem.
Thanks!
I love it too. Great word, great poem. The last line of each triplet’s especially, quietly, powerful.
Thanks! (And I welcome suggestions on what to call this poetic form of three unrhymed triplets or tercets. I think of them as 3/4ths because I’m consciously trying to avoid tying things up neatly at the end; I want them to remain open.)