Bull Pine in the Window

Bull Pine in the Window  from River by the Glass,

A Collection of Poems by Monika Rose

River by the Glass front cover small

 

 

 

 

Bull Pine in the Window

 

 

Nothing dangerous will occur here inside

the kitchen, listening tightly for sudden snaps

in a passive pastoral

 

An open crown of a looming grey pine frames

wild cucumber and clumps of mule ear

that could pass for daisies

Split trunks brush blue-iced sky

like a loose broom on a winter window

clearing morning crystal

 

fingers borne in clusters of three

orchestrate wind with needle precision

and string the same sighs as an entire

stand of ponderosa, or a shadowy ravine

in an updraft of late afternoon

 

The Miwok call it ghost pine

non-Miwok call it the digger

defining backs of bent people

who gleaned its base and found

just enough sustenance.

 

This bull pine is generous in its offering:

resiny spiked cones shaped like pineapple

to roast scales open for sustaining seed,

sweet kernels like prizes nestled in pairs

at the base of each husky segment

first-year cones seal spicy inner cores

as sap droplets ooze and harden into rock candy.

 

This landscape leans into worry as

My need is the collection of parts:

bark, needle, cone—

a shadow hangs above me in balance

one hovering split-trunk limb haunts

every bone in my basket

 

The window will, for now, hold. 

 

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