I was knighted as a child.
I was knighted as a child.
Over and over by someone wielding little, and today
even less, power. King of a great domain:
underbrush and the checkerboard of land between highways.
Between the two of us, we couldn't name a plant
where we were from. Like a ranger, we’d place
our ear on the ground and swear we heard footfall,
swear the pace had quickened. Quicken ours in kind.
Every stick an invitation: fort, sword or javelin.
We collected red “berries” and put them in a bowl,
not to eat, but to pantomime plenty and preparation.
Today I ramble, bramble after bramble
picking berries, and stowing them directly
in my curious mouth.
This poem is about chasing worlds real and imagined with a childhood friend and about the contrasting wonder between kids and adults. I remember, as a kid, using my imagination to cast myself backwards and forwards in time simultaneously. Making myself an adult, but in Middle Earth. Pretending I was a basketball player but for a roster from 30 years ago.
Now, on a more daily basis, I find wonder and imagination to be more of a rooting force in the present - a oneness of things, a humility. Both manifestations are a delight.
It’s also about knowing a place. I recently read something from Gary Snyder about how secret places + generations of time and repeated visiting = sacred places. I’m holding some of my favorite secret places in mind this week as my sense of home is in flux.