Gathering

Sea battered glass and an old rusted chain
A piece of old bone, curved this way;
a punched leather strap and an old iron hinge,
these feasts for my eyes and pockets.

Three hundred years of mechanized industry
have not taken it out of me,
this gathering energy.
Nor have four thousand years
of gender grinding
scattered the gatherer to dust
on the long dry wind.

Even fifteen thousand years of
farming has not tamed
this way to be,
has not taken the gather from me;
the seeker, the seer,
the wandering
sharp-eyed collector
finds pieces again, pocketing
and gathering myself to me.

© Anne Benvenuti 2006
Published in We’Moon Calendar, Mother Tongue Ink: 2008

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