“ The heart gets weak
if the spirit is kept
too dry.”
— Olive Senior, “Finding Your Stone”
“I buried him again so he can carry on
growing. Our cemeteries are thriving too.”
— Olive Senior, “Brief Lives” (via strongisyourhold)
Snail
by: Olive Senior
from: Gardening in the Tropics
O snail
so slow
so low
we can hardly
stoop
far enough
to see
outlined
behind
what might be
the cosmic
trail.
Sun and Moon
by: Olive Senior
from: Gardening in the Tropics
Moon’s
desire
to play
with
fire
caused
Sun
to run.
Let’s
pray
they
stay
that
way.
(via bookofdesire)
Plants
by: Olive Senior
from: Gardening in the Tropics
Plants are deceptive. You see them there
looking as if once rooted they know
their places; not like animals, like us
always running around, leaving traces.
Yet from the way they breed (excuse me!)
and twine, from their exhibitionist
and rather prolific nature, we must infer
a sinister not to say imperialistic
grand design. Perhaps you’ve regarded,
as beneath your notice, armies of mangrove
on the march, roots in the air, clinging
tendrils anchoring themselves everywhere?
The world is full of shoots bent on conquest,
invasive seedlings seeking wide open spaces,
matériel gathered for explosive dispersal
in capsules and seed cases.
Maybe you haven’t quite taken in the
colonizing ambitions of hitchhiking
burrs on your sweater, surf-riding nuts
bobbing on ocean, parachuting seeds and other
airborne traffic dropping in. And what
about those special agents called flowers?
Dressed, perfumed, and made-up for romancing
insects, bats, birds, bees, even you —
— don’t deny it, my dear, I’ve seen you
sniff and exclaim. Believe me, Innocent,
that sweet fruit, that berry, is nothing
more than ovary, the instrument to seduce
you into scattering plant progeny. Part of
a vast cosmic program that once set
in motion cannot be undone though we
become plant food and earth wind down.
They’ll outlast us, they were always there
one step ahead of us: plants gone to seed,
generating the original profligate,
extravagant, reckless, improvident, weed.
Cat’s Cradle
by: Olive Senior
from: Gardening in the Tropics
Playing
cat’s cradle
I could tie
the sun up tight
there’d be no night
but then with endless day
you’d stay out there so far away
playing out your lines
and I’d be here
playing cat’s cradle.
Without you
too long
the day
I untie
the sun
You haul in
the night.
