mudbirth

~

of the iris
of the orange daylily
of the ditch
its dark water filled

of the iris and its blue flag
of the daylily stolons
their finer roots clenching

of the dark waters not merely
mudrich

the irises hoarding the spring flood the low lying
pool of

of flowing then not flowing
of ice melt
of your own parts settling

a boy once a girl once
hanging their eyes above a puddle

daphnia rotifers amoebae
of their attention
of imagined subsurfaces

many the seeds rotting when fallen into saturated soils
but rotting not the iris roots

however nearby the zizia aurea the senecio pauperculus
when the waters do subside

~

in that cutoff ditch of the fringe suburb in a pool
long wet in spring

that pond resurrected after rains
the raised gravel berm for the pair of railroad tracks
damming one side
of this grew irises wild as fox

as marmot
as voles teaming
in tunnels

as and wholly neighbored by throngs of gray
crayfish very small and too feral
to build towers

you looked for them those early aprils
reminded by the shrilling of the chorus frogs

pale green spears
born of mud
surely
parallel venations always knowing
their direction
even amid the crinkled
panes of
ice in morning

~

in the late 1930s roads of hancock county once graded
by horsedrawn or steam
powered blades then finally to

be larded with
concrete or gravel quarried
from hamiltons bluffs

rock that rusted
gleamed as god
dess locks in afternoon sun

of such the road by your childhood house
of such the gravel driveway to that house
the steep driveway up which the 55 pontiac the heating
oil truck climbed

the gears downshifted
groaning the sharp turn some
times made askew the bald rear tire spinning
on the ridged edge of the metal culvert tube

the wheel near skating off
into the roadside ditch

the vehicle coming near to rolling over into
the daylilied
ditchwater

a boy later not admitting to
his girllike scream

~

many an absent farmstead marked
by a line of daylilies
or by a broken
windmill tower
sans its vanes
sans its creaking twirl

or the iris virginica marking where the wet
prairie thrived
if in such a spot the fields
are as yet untiled and drained

or where their bulblets chanced
upon some other low spot
where water may collect in spring

or in some place where
in spite of or truly because of hell
their namesake brought and

spilled and spilled again
from her golden ewer
the muddy waters of the styx

~

and to these roadside ditches
to these potholes in pastures

to these barely detectable saucers amid the remnant prairies
these accidental impoundments at road and rail crossings
these ruts
these old foundations with outlines settled or indistinct

and any of the other low spots seasonally turning to muck
to them and all of their kindred landscapes

each wealthy with invertebrates with protozoans
each ripe and fragrant with bacteria more plentiful than
any human bowel

you gravitate you
turn your gaze

your mudtropic soul still drawn
just as the boy of you imagined

never to resist not under glaring sun nor beneath
the halo of the moon

rolling with that sister down an embankment
into a ditchful of daylilies

granting the urgency
the increasing velocity
you spin downward again as if at four you guessed
how ephemeral were those blooms

but how could you have

or if not the spell of eiris blue or lily orange
what mystery compelled the band
and bond of mud
she drew across your forehead

was it the augury of dew that follows storms

or were you born under some twirling
windmill constellation
the sign of entropy ascendant
on rusty

yet iridescent
wings

~ ~ ~

Forgiveness Journey

Sip of Soda