The Cruelest Month

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The Cruelest Month

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The Cruelest Month

Details: Friday, 16 April 2021; Written by Eve Moore

The Cruelest Month

Is it predate

or pre-date,

this primal part

of living life on this planet,

perhaps others,

for eons?

Perhaps one

arrangement of

letters belies the truth

of the other.

How far back does

this necessity to

kill to eat,

to feed

go?

Even the green blood

of the plant is not immune;

it, too, is spilled to slake

the thirst of life as

we know it to

keep living.

And how far into the future

will it continue

to turn the

wheel of

existing?

I saw three

beautiful birds

of prey newly killed

on the road yesterday.

An unusual quantity

in such a short stretch

of travel, but then this is

the season of so much

emerging, taking of

life in both senses

of the phrase.

Their enormous

feathers gleaming

in the early spring sun.

They were slaughtered by

cars as they attempted to prey

on smaller creatures making their

lives along this trafficked highway

flanked by its small wilderness

of woods — not enough

habitat for those whose

range would be far mightier,

just enough to accommodate

the teeming whose nature

cannot be contained.

Thus, far from wild,

it is far too concentrated

a tract of non-human

intrusion, and upsets

distribution between

eating and eaten.

So much that was wrong

with this picture. So much

that, despite this, is right,

according to the natural

law of balance on this

plane teaching

balance.

Give and take.

Offering and

accepting,

opening

and closing.

Forming and

ceding form.

Teaching

acceptance

of the tick, the

mosquito, the

poison ivy, the

coywolf and red-

tailed hawk as

readily as

the violet.

I found a deer tick

on my flesh yesterday,

post gardening, and today,

mid-April, it is snowing

— accumulating.

Teaching that

April isn’t cruel,

that the tick is just

a tick, making it’s

way in the world

as I am, you are

— if I choose

to understand

this to be

true.

Enlightenment

isn’t an end. It

is a beginning

only ever just

begun.

waves on waters,

petals folding,

unfolding,

clouds

gathering,

part ways

for a

spell.

A journey

that births

itself in the dark,

as so much life does,

here, taking one through its

unlit depths, ground, grounding,

finding passage

to the light.

Again,

again.

This is what the

daffodil tells me.

She is not shy

in her brilliance,

having had so long

to rest with the question

of rising and falling,

of holding light

in the dark.

And so I take

her counsel.

And I rise with

her to the light

of this question,

this quandary, this

specter of killing

in the spectrum

of life and its

living overlit

by this day

that like all

that lives,

will end

as ever a

beginning

borne of

starlight.

∞/∞

Eve Moore: Once a professional writer of advertising, I saw the light & it has shown me words of a different nature. And so I take them down & offer them up. And all is well.

For more of Eve Moore's amazing and heart centered poetry and writings, click here!
http://www.crystalwind.ca/eve-moore

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.”
—Jimi Hendrix

This poem/prose was submitted exclusively to CrystalWind.ca by Eve Moore.

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