Sophie Doulut, “Chuckin’ Corn”
Here I am –
Sitting on a rocking chair
Out there on the front porch
Of a Southern home
Wrenching off the green leaves out
And then the long bristling hair
Of an ear of corn
It had looked like
A precious thing wrapped
In some Egyptian handwritten papyrus rolls
Maybe some oval yellow Rosetta stone
That could not be deciphered in the open
By anybody but myself – for once.
When plucking the leaves out,
The ear looked like
Some disheveled creature
With tousled straight hair
As if somehow the Divine had dwelt
Within the plant and had animated it,
Instilling Life and Breath into it.
On the porch, there I was
Listening to what the ear of corn
Had to reveal
An pouring my story
Into it,
And like a dulcimer playing
In front of me,
The ear had me listen
To the past of America.
I could hear Native American drums
Along with Aztecan trumpets
Echoing those of the Mariachis
Playing on barges
Sailing on a Mexican lake…
I went that far –
Never leaving the rocking-chair
Or the front porch in Candia Lane,
North Carolina –
And I knew then that souls
Could travel faster than minds,
Disclosing hidden worlds
That could not be shuffled in
By anybody – if they didn’t press
Their own ears to the ones
Nature makes of corn…
Sophie Doulut, Les Arcanes de l’Esprit, 1997-2009
Lovely poem, well written and imaginative