“Blessed is the man,” the poet says,
“Rooted like trees by rippled waters,
Whose leaves wither not.”
But in my world
October’s wet winds
Whip withered leaves
Away like scuttled chaff
Over ground grown brown and bare.
Bare bones of trees sketched black against grey sky
Endure long nights, filigreed with frost
Creaking in the lingered dark.
So blessed too the man
Whose roots cling hard to stony soil
Who, empty handed, reaches up
Through cold and dark
Remembering, in hope, the green.
–
Eric K. Taylor is the author of Using Folktales (Cambridge UP) and editor of Some Fruits of Solitude (Herald Press). He holds an MFA in writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts. He’s published poetry, children’s poetry, and creative nonfiction in various journals, and he’s seeking publication for various children’s fiction. He currently teaches academic writing at Peking University in Beijing, China.