Ode to a Moose
Moose, don’t let me get lost in the
matrices of your antlers. They are
hard and solid and beautiful. Don’t let
me get lost in these rock moonbeams.
I follow you too closely and forget my
own two-legged self.
Moose, I want to ride on your back
and dress you in wings so that we can
fly away together but I know, moose,
you are happier than I on earth,
munching on greens or standing still
on a trail, a road.
Moose, you are not bothered by your
enemies who ridicule you from afar,
say you are stupid. Others make
much of your aggressiveness while
they actively hate you, stomp on your
nobility. Moose, I wish I could know
the source of your calm.
Moose, I wish we could share stories.
I am lonely here in your country. I
wish you could sleep next to me, your
head next to mine. Here I go again
wanting to get so very close to you!
Moose, teach me to accept my own
nature; my human head without
antlers, with soft yellow hair—as soft
as your velveteen antlers as they
start to grow. See! I am so lost in you
my mind cannot travel to anything
else. I keep falling into comparisons.
Teach me how to find a sense of
dignity in myself. How to be beautiful
also, alone on a road.
By Andrea Nicki