Be Not Afraid
I am converted and every day:
when the clouds dream
a new dream
and fill the air
with snow
when the pines and hemlocks
lift their needles
and welcome
what sun there is
when the creek,
hard frozen,
listens as the fox
trots along its side.
This world of enchantment
waits for you
like the milkweed
standing in this snowy field
its pod open wide
like angel wings outstretched
ready to catch
the rising wind.
Moth
When Jesus said, “Suffer the little ones to come unto me”
I know he included this inch-long moth
marooned on the bike path
gray wings delicately trimmed in white
a neon orange head
an iridescent blue body.
When I put my fingers down in front of it,
it climbs right into my hand,
happily, I think,
and when I crouch at the edge of the path
to let it go
there is a young apple tree growing there,
sensitive and wood ferns,
buttercups,
a spray of little white asters
for such is the kingdom of heaven.
Slow by Slow
“Secret work has been done in us of which we’ve had no inkling.” —John O’Donohue
It’s like yeast, they say
or a mustard seed
but I submit
it is also like carpenter ants
the way they work, hidden,
unbidden, unnoticed,
deep within the foundation, the walls,
the very structure of the house
so that one day
light filters through
where a thick wall stood
one day
you see a patch of open sky
where the hardest ceiling had been
one day a door
stands ajar that has been
locked for a lifetime.
Slow by slow
grace finds a way.
Slow by slow
still the gift comes.
—Julie Cadwallader Staub’s poems have been published in various journals, featured on “The Writer’s Almanac,” and included in such anthologies as Poetry of Presence (Grayson Books) and Roads Taken: Contemporary Vermont Poetry (Green Writers Press). Her poem “Milk” won Hunger Mountain Review’s 2015 Ruth Stone Poetry Prize. Her first collection of poems, Face to Face, was published by Cascadia Publishing House in 2010, and her second collection, Wing Over Wing, will be published by Paraclete Press in 2019 and will include all three poems posted here.
‘Moth’ calls forth those perfect afternoons when we kids were so close to the ground that insects were our playthings. The insects flourished or suffered.
Now, the adult treats the moth with infinite care. It’s a breakable moment.
I just loved this one.
Thanks for these reflections on moths and the breakable moment, Greta, they mean much.
How refreshing….They are lovely poems. I even felt myself sit up straighter, relax and breathe more freely and fully as I read them. Thanks for posting these!
Many thanks for this generous affirmation, Gwen, of the power of Julie Cadwallader Staub’s poetry even to cause sitting “up straighter, relax and breathe more fully. . . .”