Fresh Air
Calm down, it’s not a net
around you, it’s a tent.
The flap is right here,
step outside if you need
fresh air, for this place
to spritz you with air
straight from a pine tree’s
mouth. Thunder’s ok,
rain is ok, that’s what
the tent is for, remember.
Don’t confuse shelter with
trap, the mountains are
all around, and the grass
is still soft on either side
of the path that you sidled
down when you came to us
this morning. Last year,
I mean. Whenever, it’s
summer here and winter
elsewhere, simultaneously,
anyway. Looking back, who
knows what you’ll think.
Lovely, I am intrigued and carried along by the voice. A most unusual poem and very endearing.
ReplyDeleteI love this, Hannah. What encloses and what accommodates. Beguiling as ever.
ReplyDeleteProvocative line this: "Don't confuse shelter with / trap...."
ReplyDeleteWould love to hear this read aloud.
Every time I read one of your poems I open just a bit more.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your thoughts on this poem, everyone.
ReplyDeleteAmy/Cupcake....that is quite possibly the nicest compliment ever. Thank you.