The bloodroot thrusts its tender shoots
up through the forest floor rich with acids of leaves
the dark accretions of centuries—mandalas
that repeat each spring just where the footpath
reaches light, near white pines and beeches carved
with the names of lovers.
Snowy corollas tremble in west wind,
silver furry bloodroot stems.
Fragile flowers enfolded in leaves—
coronas, whorls unfurled petals in circles of green
leaves veined with red like the red that runs through
myself and bleeds when I break
the stems staining my hands to remind of kinship
for we have the same needs: sun, rain, food, air.
We are of the same substances that fell
in different combinations.
Yet we are more. I study bloodroot.
The world takes no time to note its harmonious
idiosyncrasies, curious fluted leaves
trefoils that open to dappled light
close with intuitions of night
Serene go between and compass for my life.
Bloodroot.
excerpted from my book The Wilderness Within
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Ron
Love ya!
Jane