Imperative to Feel in Place on Earth – a poem by Brian Palmer

Imperative to Feel in Place on Earth


See the moon, rotation-borne, 
rise from the earth that’s lined with seams 
of smoky quartz, smoldering under
the husky orange of oak-leaf windfall.

Watch the golden harvest moon,
an acorn once, lift and exchange 
its heavy earthly state for something 
smaller, light, essential, white.

Hear leaves rustle, drop, and rattle—
on earth, all falls, and falls to earth—
while the soundless moon sails up
above the weary blue-black hills.

Bear witness to the seasoned earth, 
and like all mortal things, embrace
a moment in your fear-curled body 
thoughts of decay and moonlessness.
 
Succumb and die and lie still, finally.
But at the last become a seed 
pressed into coming April mud, 
then break through earth and as the moon,

rise in situ from the turning
earth, the earth you thought would claim 
your stony heart. Take root. Lift moonward.
Be unafraid to fall again.

Brian Palmer is a retired English teacher and now pursues full-time his interests in studying and writing poetry, inspired by the natural environments of the West and Pacific NW. His recent poetry collection, Prairiehead, was released in the fall of 2023 with Kelsay Books. He is the editor and publisher of THINK: A Journal of Poetry, Fiction, and Essays. He currently lives in Juneau, Alaska.