Hubris to Humus
Tree limbs still as the spindle legs of a doe
sensing the ground trodden, and tamped, I
once the most brilliant jewel in the crown
of this pin oak am the only stirring thing
in this savannah, my thread of a stem
a tenuous tatter to its limb. I quiver once
in an otherwise unfelt, unseen breeze,
spin as a pinwheel, tear and fall, am
in fact, the first leaf to fall this fall.
Spores that had spattered me in spring
bloom in these rains and begin their devour
and soon I am sodden and underfoot
a coyote’s paw, the hoof of a deer,
and become not a leaf anymore
but scattered smattered bits of Earth.
The I and that breeze that had wheezed these lines
have died, though only that I of me
and whatever has become of that breeze.
John Briscoe is a poet, author, a distinguished fellow at the University of California, Berkeley, and a lawyer representing countries in disputes with other countries. His poetry has been praised by Kirkus, Columbia and Foreword reviews, and by Robert Hass and other poets. His poem “Conka” was a finalist for the 2021 Poetry International Award. His poems have appeared in Commonweal, The Missouri Review, The Antioch Review, Catamaran and California Quarterly Review, among many other publications. He has published nine books, four of which are poetry collections. The most recent is Strangers We Have Known, which was published by FMSBW Press of San Francisco in 2022.
Tree limbs still as the spindle legs of a doe
sensing the ground trodden, and tamped, I
once the most brilliant jewel in the crown
of this pin oak am the only stirring thing
in this savannah, my thread of a stem
a tenuous tatter to its limb. I quiver once
in an otherwise unfelt, unseen breeze,
spin as a pinwheel, tear and fall, am
in fact, the first leaf to fall this fall.
Spores that had spattered me in spring
bloom in these rains and begin their devour
and soon I am sodden and underfoot
a coyote’s paw, the hoof of a deer,
and become not a leaf anymore
but scattered smattered bits of Earth.
The I and that breeze that had wheezed these lines
have died, though only that I of me
and whatever has become of that breeze.
John Briscoe is a poet, author, a distinguished fellow at the University of California, Berkeley, and a lawyer representing countries in disputes with other countries. His poetry has been praised by Kirkus, Columbia and Foreword reviews, and by Robert Hass and other poets. His poem “Conka” was a finalist for the 2021 Poetry International Award. His poems have appeared in Commonweal, The Missouri Review, The Antioch Review, Catamaran and California Quarterly Review, among many other publications. He has published nine books, four of which are poetry collections. The most recent is Strangers We Have Known, which was published by FMSBW Press of San Francisco in 2022.
