The Hard Earth

A poem that Jack wrote for me. Fantastic stuff – I adore it.

The Hard Earth

if I fall and scrap my knee,
I give my blood to the unforgiving
earth, and though she doesn’t soften,
I feel a momentary hardening
in myself, a sense of the stone
that holds me up

there was a time when even mountains
were young and soft and warm, still
molten or raw in the air. there was
fire in the void, unlimited by oxygen,
and there was ice without ocean.
she came between them, new and sharp,
giving as she took what was hers,
meeting the water and letting him
shape her, and she him

she remembers when the ice scraped
her bare, when the humans first built
grass huts and cut stone tombs
into the hills, was already old
when the gods fought for land.
she learned to wear their forms
and reach out to the humans
but they sensed the height
and the depth that echoed in
her words and images

her stone is still her, still hers,
through glacier and flood,
invasion and tourism, and she
cannot be chased away. what’s her
is hers. and the blood soaks into
the stone, and the feeling recedes
leaving a very large rock and
a very small person