Poems by Geneva Toland
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Raven
by Geneva Toland
Geneva currently resides on the occupied lands of the Baxoje people in Ames, Iowa. This small town sits in between the slow-moving South Skunk River and the Ioway creek, which both run south to eventually become the great Mississippi River.
Some come for the mountain,
I come only for you.
Black cross pasted to sky,
What other worlds do you see?
O dark maker,
You are my religion!
Behold the expansive sky,
the clouds like rivers between
breasts of weathered time,
the whole valley a sea of white—
I fix my faith on your flight,
straight and slow,
your guttural call launched
like an arrow,
as certain and ominous
as our own dying.
© Geneva Toland
Small Gratitudes
by Geneva Toland
On a cold, gray morning
I stuff socks into boots
and stomp into the woods
in search of small gratitudes.
I start with the caw of a crow,
the smooth sure seat of stone,
the tracks of squirrel,
the perked ears of startled doe.
Then—
the fast, deadly flight
of a cooper's hawk
drawing a black streak
across the sky.
© Geneva Toland
Winter Solstice
by Geneva Toland
On the winter solstice,
I walk through snowy fields
making bouquets of
dried flower heads
and fallen pine branches,
as tears fall down my
reddened cheeks.
Every year I do this dance,
cursing the leaving of light,
fighting the dark descent into depth.
But the world knows what we need.
We are asked to learn this again and again.
How to gather up the beauty of season,
how to praise the wisdom
of forces beyond our control,
how to drink the medicine
we never thought
could heal our broken heart.
© Geneva Toland