Such Imperfection
“…belief is the wound that knowledge heals…”
Ursula K. LeGuin, The Telling
A year since
falling
on my knees
to the earth
deer calling
across the dark
meadow. Brittle Queen
Anne’s Lace and late-
comer daisy — all
the dying grasses.
Orion hunts above
the ridge
where snatches
of conversation
from luxury
homes waft
down like dew
which is also
falling exactly
like the old
hymns say:
Balm of Heaven on Earth.
The mosquito whine
of traffic in all seasons
louder now the leaves
have begun their journey
to soil.
Drivers on Antioch and Barry
stare at billboards announcing
human dwellings for sale —
from the 250’s.
Fetal now
body and soul
posing a question
worthy of a sibyl:
Where, then, do we live?
Down by the creek
deer, impatient, but wary,
cough. From a hollow
in the meadow above us
an answer.
I must rise
and try to walk
another way.
by Christina Pacosz
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qarrtsiluni 
Oh my God. What a stunning, stunning poem.
Another gorgeous offering.
Beautiful, lovely poem.
Not only exquisite, but a strong and fluid exploration of personal politics and spirituality. The big “how to live a life” question. A small and tidy poem with huge echoes.
Perfection, as always. Whatever imperfections might lurk in around the corners of her life, her poetic expressions are always perfect in my eyes.
Yes, Dale. Stunning, indeed.
Wonder-full. There are places like that here, and I am astonished by them, every time. Your poem evokes that astonishment perfectly.
The old, persistent question….still begging for an answer. How should we live? Christina’s words waft down, expanding our vision.
Awesome thanks for sharing with us
“the deer cough” that is so wondeful; the deer who a year before had “called.” I admire your ability to work with the big question of the poem.