Ceremony
On the third finger of my left hand
under the bank of the Ninnescah
a muskrat whirled and bit to the bone.
The mangled hand made the water red.
That was something the ocean would remember:
I saw me in the current flowing through the land,
rolling, touching roots, the world incarnadined,
and the river richer by a kind of marriage.
While in the woods an owl started quavering
with drops like tears I raised my arm.
Under the bank a muskrat was trembling
with meaning my hand would wear forever.
In that river my blood flowed on.
Technorati Tags: William Stafford, Poetry, Muskrat, Ninnescah, Ceremony
1 comment:
good poem as i too almost got eatten by a muskrat nice !
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