A Poem a Day (539): Pulse (Mother)

In the quiet
of the still
there is no sound,
there is no light,
only the pulse
of a distant heart.
 
The chirrup
of a cricket,
the murmuration
of a starling,
the splash
of a minnow.
 
The burden lies,
wakes the still-
beating earth, echoes
down the roots
into the deepest
darkest chamber.
 
Mother Nature listens,
her head to the side,
offers sweet-sour solace
to the rootless.
A single tear falls,
scorches the ground. 

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, December 1, 2022