“Naturaleza, presente” by Magnus Weese-Grubb
This poem was an experiment in focusing on something other than my personal loneliness. I started gardening a lot more during quarantine and felt it could be fun to humanize my plants. It was peaceful there, digging in the dirt and watching something thrive for once. I didn't have to be masked; I didn't have to think about the pandemic catching up to me; how could it? I was alone, in the sense of not having other people around, and my plants wouldn't hurt me. They were little verdant soldiers, proud and swaying in the breeze without complaint. In that sight, I managed to find some peace. I hope this piece offers a small silver, at the very least, of the calm it brought me.
“Naturaleza, presente”
En sus manos, que refleja muchos:
Un brote toca los vidrios crueles;
Las monjas verdes crecen, calmas, fieles.
Acaricialos, cosas cauchos-nervados.
Mira: lluvia cae como duchos—
Tierra fabrica sus niños, celes.
Ve tomillo, romero, laureles;
Creaciones sin las raíces, escuchos.
Adentro, hay un fantasma hambriento;
Su cara golpeó el vidrio, oculta.
Las plantas no saben el cuento;
No dicta sentencia; es multa.
El aislamiento sin razón, lo presento.
El jardín, presenta, no, existe como mi libertad de insulta.