once we had everything we had an island full of bison we had a sky full of flight we had a sea full of northern shovelers in fall we had an ocean full of grebes— divers with ruby eyes and dark lashes. we had everything meadowlarks tuned the morning coyotes crooned the night we had beaches full of sand and each grain a spherical world not ground, but grown complete concentric rings. we had circles full of people bearing stories, some not easy to tell and yet the tellers told them anyway. we had a basin and a range we lived on a sea floor we wanted nothing more than what we dreamt at night as we slept in her generous bed which once held all the water the same water which once held my mother a nine year-old looking to hers and her mother who said look, how the water holds my large body, she can hold you… and then, my mother laughing with delight. and we were once water too mirroring the skies, we doubled heaven we were lyrical, fluid, and lake-voiced we had a smell, ripe-with-life we had salt in our eyes we felt the sting! we were a great body reclaiming– we were a basin yearning to be full again we were a great lake dreaming herself whole again. once she had everything once we had everything.
This poem can also be found on the pages of kerning by Toad Hall Editions, which arrived on my desk yesterday. I’m beyond grateful to be included in such a stunning publication.
The words came near the end of the 2022 winter vigil after the meadowlarks had returned. Between the wild stylings of coyotes, the thrumming of chukars, and the bright melodies of small birds, the island never stopped singing. The title was taken from a scene in the movie Don’t Look Up. I was moved by the invitation to reflect on the bounty of life from the edge of a precipice we haven’t quite tumbled over yet.
Which specific water bodies, life forms, and landforms would you include in a similar list? Please share some in the comments. I’d love to read about what you hold dear.
Thank you for reading and listening today. Thank you for your inestimably priceless attention and your buoyant support.
I love the line “lyrical, fluid, and lake-voiced” - I’m treasuring the nuthatches & woodpeckers at my feeder today.
“the island never stopped singing”
Oh, nan!!
The Swannanoa River is my beloved waterbody. When we went in search of the headwaters, we came upon a Great Blue Heron. She swooshed out of her invisibility and lifted up. I swear she hovered for a moment to show her disdain for solitude interrupted. And then with the accumulated majesty of her 23 million year old species, she flew down the middle of the River.
We found the headwaters. That is her place. She reminds us of the responsibility of living upstream. The Swannanoa River flows into the French Broad River at the Biltmore Estate. The French Broad goes to the Ohio, which goes to the Tennessee, to the Mississippi River and into the Gulf of Mexico.💙
🤍🌱