When I am Wise

Mary, my other mother, loves Lee Kelly. She pointed Arlie out to me the first time I saw it, she told me about her aunt Caroline who lived in a house designed inside by Kelly, an undulating Gaudi style house on Greenleaf. She told me Lee Kelly was an extraordinary person, and coming from her I knew it was true. She is extraordinary herself. So today I am going to post a poem by Mary Gray, published in Wild Song in 1998.

When I am Wise

When I am wise in the speech of grass,
I forget the sound of words
and walk into the bottomland
and lie my head on the ground
and listen to what grass tells me
about small places for wind to sing,
about the labor of insects,
about shadows dank with spice,
and the friendliness of weeds.

When I am wise in the dance of grass,
I forget my name and run
into the rippling bottomland
and lean against the silence which flows
out of the crumpled mountains
and rises through slick blades, pods,
wheat stems, and curly shoots,
and is carried by wind for miles
from my outstretched hands.