Five years I have waged silent combat
with a nameless city mower that shaves
the greenbelt right up to the graveled edge
where a lone Scarlet Muskflower grows.
Behold: green-gray leaves silver-mottled
and viscous, curled like small canoes,
hearth red globes of trumpet flowers,
white-capped stamens’ firework flare
This solitary wonder blooms in scathing heat
when all else withers. I have made barriers
of rock and fallen branch, but three times a year
the mower still plows through. Such blindness.
Severed scapes and scattered petals,
I rebuild the barrier taller, thicker. Ki stretches
brave, toughens root, nudges leaf and flower,
aims for seed.
And now this summer: three musk infants,
resolute spirits born of trial, thrust through caliche
to defy the mower’s murderous advance.
Only angels know this much trust.
—
Mobi Warren is a poet-naturalist who lives in Texas. She is the translator of several works by Thich Nhat Hanh, including Old Path White Clouds. Warren leads poetry walks in which direct experience of the natural world inspires writing and advocacy for all beings that share our planet home. She is the author of a chapbook, Thread and Nectar, and her essay “Cicadas Still Sing,” in included in Orion Magazine‘s anthology, The Book of Bugs.
