by Tricia Knoll
The young boy on the deck
of a cave fingers his ring.
Seeking to join the flock
that scoots through space,
the resistance that old women
like me have known as marches,
petitions, sit-ins, showings up,
letter writing, paying forward,
and which he may learn as war
to tilt love forward, to feed
the hungry, house them,
welcome them from the far
corners of the universe.
This forever war, I want to say
to him standing in hope,
the forever work of keeping
shine in our hands. Guard
the glow for work.
Tricia Knoll’s collection Broadfork Farm, now available from The Poetry Box, contains poetry about pigs, dogs, starry nights, predators and farmers on this small organic farm in Trout Lake, Washington. Knoll is a regular farmsitter on the property.
The young boy on the deck
of a cave fingers his ring.
Seeking to join the flock
that scoots through space,
the resistance that old women
like me have known as marches,
petitions, sit-ins, showings up,
letter writing, paying forward,
and which he may learn as war
to tilt love forward, to feed
the hungry, house them,
welcome them from the far
corners of the universe.
This forever war, I want to say
to him standing in hope,
the forever work of keeping
shine in our hands. Guard
the glow for work.
Tricia Knoll’s collection Broadfork Farm, now available from The Poetry Box, contains poetry about pigs, dogs, starry nights, predators and farmers on this small organic farm in Trout Lake, Washington. Knoll is a regular farmsitter on the property.
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