The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review

Poem for Sunday, Lake Needwood, Mission Impossible

A Certain Kind of Eden
By Kay Ryan

It seems like you could, but
you can’t go back and pull
the roots and runners and replant.
It’s all too deep for that.
You’ve overprized intention,
have mistaken any bent you’re given
for control. You thought you chose
the bean and chose the soil.
You even thought you abandoned
one or two gardens. But those things
keep growing where we put them—
if we put them at all.
A certain kind of Eden holds us thrall.
Even the one vine that tendrils out alone
in time turns on its own impulse,
twisting back down its upward course
a strong and then a stronger rope,
the greenest saddest strongest
kind of hope.


It was a chilly but beautiful day on Saturday, so after a morning of stressful looking at work stuff, we dropped Maddy off at work and went to Lake Needwood, then Meadowside Nature Center, both of which still have plenty of leaf color though very few crickets (and after tonight's freeze, possibly no more of those). We only saw deer from the car driving in and out, but we saw both wild and rehabilitated raptors plus a fishing heron. Also, I'd never even seen an Electabuzz before today, and now I've caught six.

We stopped at Roots Market since we weren't far from Olney to get vegan marshmallows, vegetarian beef, awesome cheese and locally brewed butterbeer -- it is always a great pleasure to shop there because they have samples of their nuts and chips. Then we came home for burgers and brats and watched Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation because we wanted something distracting and fairly mindless and this totally fit the bill even if it failed every part of the Bechdel Test. Now SNL, which is reasonably entertaining!

  • Greetings from the Canal

    It rained early in the morning on Friday and again in the afternoon -- the first thunderstorm of the season, which displeased the kittens so much…

  • Poem for Friday and Canal Thursday

    Letter Beginning with Two Lines by Czesław Miłosz By Matthew Olzmann You whom I could not save, Listen to me. Can we agree Kevlar backpacks…

  • Poem for Thursday and McCrillis Flowers

    A Violin at Dusk By Lizette Woodworth Reese Stumble to silence, all you uneasy things, That pack the day with bluster and with fret. For here…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded