The Pacific Grove Museum of Natural History
I’ve given up on a trek to the mountains of Mexico
where monarchs winter-over. This California museum
shows how they dwindle, like bells that used to ring
at the end of a typewriter line.
Butterflies suspended. Do not touch the glass.
A taxidermied bluebird vomits a plastic string
to show wayfarer protection, vibrant orange and foul taste.
Outside, a garden with nectar smells of mimulus,
pearly everlasting, red beardtongue, and clover.
Never begrudge the time you sync your heart
to a butterfly, even spring’s first cabbage white.
What else here – a world of quirky diversity.
One man’s collection of 792 samples of sand
traded from all over the world filed in small vials
numbered in faded brown ink
on handmade shelves.
An evolving practice of place – a woman who made baskets
from bulrush woven in patterns of diamonds
three hundred years ago. Her daughters
and grand-daughters baskets followed the pattern,
letting the diamonds interlock more intricately
just as monarchs make their returns,
as sands wash emerald-colored jade
off the shores of Carmel.
Tricia Knoll's poetry appears widely in journals and anthologies. She lived for many years in Oregon and now in Vermont, but remembers with great fondness this wonderful Pacific Grove Museum. Website: triciaknoll.com
I’ve given up on a trek to the mountains of Mexico
where monarchs winter-over. This California museum
shows how they dwindle, like bells that used to ring
at the end of a typewriter line.
Butterflies suspended. Do not touch the glass.
A taxidermied bluebird vomits a plastic string
to show wayfarer protection, vibrant orange and foul taste.
Outside, a garden with nectar smells of mimulus,
pearly everlasting, red beardtongue, and clover.
Never begrudge the time you sync your heart
to a butterfly, even spring’s first cabbage white.
What else here – a world of quirky diversity.
One man’s collection of 792 samples of sand
traded from all over the world filed in small vials
numbered in faded brown ink
on handmade shelves.
An evolving practice of place – a woman who made baskets
from bulrush woven in patterns of diamonds
three hundred years ago. Her daughters
and grand-daughters baskets followed the pattern,
letting the diamonds interlock more intricately
just as monarchs make their returns,
as sands wash emerald-colored jade
off the shores of Carmel.
Tricia Knoll's poetry appears widely in journals and anthologies. She lived for many years in Oregon and now in Vermont, but remembers with great fondness this wonderful Pacific Grove Museum. Website: triciaknoll.com