We Have So Much Left to Learn
Listening is no quiet act. No Milky Way
taught us, we just knew, like school children
“No running on fields!” that when it rained,
and we took to the grass in wet leaps.
We have so much left to learn, the power
of patience. She opened my eyes to vast sky
“Me has abierto mi Alma a reconocerte,
tu llanto y tormento.” Told me a new story
with branches new as facts. What a wonderful
creation. One day a cheetah ushered me home,
blew my hair like wind blows through grass,
taught me to be as bright as the sun. Spots
running, so fast. Listening is no quiet act.
No Milky Way but we sit, share, clean ears
with branches and twigs. Remember wet
grass, the whirlpools, the Columbia and
running on the track. What if reciprocity
is stewardship? What if when you love
the land, it loves you back? Tell this
to the night terror earwigs, always finding
a new home. Unpredictable, that’s when we learn
most. Guards at the door, blinking sandstone,
making anything and everything—if we can
make anything, why not make it beautiful?
The value in being still is that you remember
your relatives. Peaceful and calm. Enjoy
Mother’s hug even if you’re not planted.
You’re no river stones, no sun, you’re too fast.
Too sunflower, begging year-round yellow
blooms. I know because I am you and we are
better, stronger, as a we. Storms make us grow
but we are tired, I know. Listening is no quiet act.
Nature teaches us to survive, whispering
we grow because we must. We love
because we must. There is no other way.
Be resilient, stare into the blue flames.
Ada Limón, serving her second term as the United States’ poet laureate, brings warmth and reassurance through her profound connection with readers in her New York Times article, “Natural State.” Her words evoke a profound sense of connection, reminding us of poetry’s power to unite us with the world, inspiring collective action to protect our planet.
