Not Yet*

2019 Walk Award
by Barbara Bloom

Not yet while the blackberries
are still just flowers and the pink bramble roses
hang off the corner of the garden fence
in a heavy tangle no
not yet as I sit in my friend’s backyard
and the image of the black truck
on the wrong side of the road returns to me
speeding toward us
and unseen birds call back and forth
from treetops or the air
while off in the distance
a weed whacker starts up
and even that is a reason to stay
and the eucalyptus fill up the sky
the sun warm on my face
with another morning
not yet
the world outside beckoning
look at me here don’t go

. . . . .
*Copyright 2019 by Barbara Bloom. Broadside illustrated by Kimberly Wulfestieg.

. . . . .
Barbara Bloom grew up on a remote coastal homestead in British Columbia. She taught English and creative writing in Santa Cruz, California, for many years and recently returned to make her home in the Northwest, where she lives with her musician husband and several rescued animals. She has published two books of poetry — On the Water Meridian and Pulling Down the Heavens.

This poem was inspired by a scary incident while driving and the powerful realization that I was not ready to leave the earth — and gratitude for the things I love about being alive.