This poem by Vassar Miller expresses for me the essence and wonder of newness of life in the Easter Season.
-Fran Avera
a poem by Vassar Miller "Or as Gertrude Stein Says. . ."
The sky is as blue as itself,
and the tree is as green as its leaves.
How shall I write a poem about today?
The tree stands--
but the tree has no feet.
The tree leans its head--
but the tree is not tired,
growing without resting
resting without pausing.
Let me try again.
The wind blows.
How, having no whistle?
The wind sings.
How, having no tune?
The wind sighs.
How, having no heart?
Yet it is lovers who borrow
from the wind their softness and storms.
Well, then, the wind moves.
How, having no body
but the motion of bodies?
When the sky is as blue as itself,
and the tree is as green as its leaves--
a poem is only
taking a child's downy skull
gently between your hands
and, with not so much breath as might startle a gnat's wing,
whispering,
"Look!"