Where’s Walden III

Works by Sophie Smith

I Am

I am a great white oak
torn away from my mother,
the Great White Oak,
strong, beautiful and rooted in the ground.
I broke away,
only to die slowly, painfully.
I slowly lost the skin of my leaf, little by little.
I am now mostly a skeleton.
The lines that were once veins are now strong, and to some, beautiful.
Oak leaf.

I am a drop of water
going through a never-ending cycle.
From the ground to the sky,
back down to the ground,
and back up to the sky.
Falling from a faucet,
I am a beautiful, glimmering drop of water.
Being cried from an eye,
I am horrid.
A drop of water.

I am a grain of sand,
one of the smallest forms of a rock.
I lie on a beach
or fill cracks of a stone walkway.
I cover human feet,
and cloud animals’ vision.
Sand.

I am cream.
I give the color to milk that people drink,
and the color to the fur on the back of a dog.
I am only one in a line-up of colors.
A color that doesn’t get noticed,
just another color.
I’m nothing special.
Just the color cream.

I am the shade on a hot summer’s day,
protecting the animals,
who need a cool rest.
Although I am dark
I let many things live by protecting them from the rays of the sun.
I keep animals alive on a hot summer’s day.
Shade.

I am a human, recording observations.
With ignorance, I do not know the true meaning of nature,
Nor am I grateful enough of the gifts it gives us.
I am only an ignorant human.

A Raspberry

Ripe, red, ready
to take on what might come next.
Whether to meet the heel of a dino today,
or the unsuspecting mouth of an infant tomorrow.
Whatever may come to pass—
it is ready.

Satin Bed

The satin bed beneath her
reminds her of the stream and the valley
where the sun always shines
all year round.
Where the bumblebees buzz amiably
and the waterfall topples over.
The sun plays across her upturned face
while she gazes at the trees
floating in the sky.
The nimble vagrant wanders
across the hills,
as she shields her eyes
from harm, sickness, and the poor
that can’t afford a satin bed.