SNAIL

Digitally altered photo by S. Auberle

Some have called me a nature poet--one comment, I believe,
was "a bit Mary Oliver-ish." Oh god, to be even a little Mary
Oliver-ish makes me crazy-happy. She is my hero(ine).
Nature poet--so be it. This is called:

SNAIL

Rest a moment, and let me tell you
about the dapper beauty of a snail I saw today,
her body a ribbon of copper light,
the house on her back
a palette of orange and brown.
She moves slowly on this earth,
touching gently, delicate antennae
alert to the enormous world around her.

Funny, this poem was intended
to be about bones--the bleached skeletons
of fish I found and stopped to admire,
but the two can exist, I suppose, side by side,
along with news of the latest terrorist attempts,
global warming, a friend's battle with cancer

who would give what time she has left
to live a while like the snail:
a gentle journey down the path of her days,
touching all around her,
then retreat--when darkness comes,
into the house of her body,
safe from this mad, exquisite world.

- mimi