The following poem was written in response to Mary Oliver’s poems in which she so often depicts herself falling asleep in wild grasses or under feathered trees – lovely images such as those. At some point in time I was quite aggravated at all of her sleeping in the wild flowers! Can anybody really do that? Does it make them a better person than one who cannot?
I’ve slept in hammocks,
in beach chairs,
on towels on sandy beaches,
but I have never slept among blueberries.
Wild leaves and fruits scare me,
don’t laugh, it’s their way.
They’ll make us a soft bed, or not,
they’ll feed us, or not,
they’ll scratch us, or make a bridge
for bugs to crawl upon our arms.
Imagine such indifference during
ground-level messy grassy sleep!
Please let’s stay in our pillow-topped bed.
What was I thinking, sleeping
in my car at rest stops?