Mani Suri
Of Glass and Clover
A child ran across the field
Tripped, and fell upon the grass.
It was thick and broke his fall.
He rolled around,
The blades tickled him,
Cushioning him,
Whispering to him,
Some crushed under him,
Releasing their fragrance to the air.
He breathed them in,
Pulling one out by its root
And chewed it,
Tasting its sweetness.
Then he savoured a clover,
Gazing up into the infinite blue,
Wondering if, somehow,
These blades of grass
And fields of clover
Were some of his long ago kin
Whom he had now incorporated
In himself,
Their death
A rebirth
Of their spirit,
Whilst he heard
His mother's call to supper.
Mani Suri is a veteran of the Poetic License crowd in Los Angeles. He is an author of two poetry collections and he co-hosts a weekly reading at the Rapp Saloon in Santa Monica. |
