STONE TURTLE
Sun-baked leaves
crisp crimson that twirl and turn
to flakes of ice
as they fall
now soften
become pink petals
settle on shoulders
that know nothing
but weight
Who are you
who can bear
suffer these changes and stand
solid on the Kamo River
where rock and weed and fish
tumble
and sway
and refuse to cling
even as its waters
hesitate to set
settle at feet
that know nothing
of touch
Who are you
made of
stone slow
made unmoving
ever above flow
head toward the mountain
looking up
searching for source
a beginning
WEIGHT WITHOUT GRAVITY
1 There is no weight without gravity. But matter and weight have come To mean the same things: What keeps our feet on the ground, what pulls At clouds to return to sea, why we fear The fall. We have assigned them, too To other things: meaning and burden. Weight no longer belongs to the body. 2 My mother's weight keeps her pinned To this hospital bed, chained By our fears, by all she has to fight. She is her body now more than ever. The pressure of her hand in mine A collection of mere molecules— Matter acted upon by gravity. And I waver at the edge of You and This is not you, I tell her. The weight of our worry pulls the water from her eyes. 3 I do not fear the words dead, weight. The part of my mother I wait to waken Weighs nothing and means all.
Andrea Teran is a climate change adaptation specialist, currently working on climate change-induced (human) migration. Her writing is mostly an expression of her fascination with the natural world, and finding our place in it.
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