meme in the woods
by celia miles

The generation gap’s sharp as a ravine
cut through the woods by later spring rains
when my mother and I walk among the oaks.
Her way is lore and mine is learning.
She walks with head, I with book in hand.
She sees mushrooms her grandpa said are poison.
My book says it isn’t so and we wander on.
My guide says count the petals; she knows
anemones when she sees them with her own gray eyes.
Contradictions abound but what the matter?
I, choosing to eat those mushrooms by
her lore or my learning, would never risk it.
We cross the ravine by simple means
I back down uncertain, holding on to roots
my book does not name; she marches straight and sure
unhampered by Latin genus and labeled stems.
We end up together–whatever the terminology
Or the truth.

 

Celia Miles lives in Asheville and writes in various genres; her latest book, ThymeTable Mill, will be available in May.