New Mexico-based poet Elizabeth Jacobson says her entrée into poetry began as a child when she regularly wandered into the woods behind her house. The more time she spent there, the more nature’s curious patterns and wonders revealed themselves to her. And one day she began writing about the subtle marvels she observed in her notebook.
Elizabeth Jacobson: As a young child we had some stuff happen in my family and I think I became more introverted than I might have been if those things hadn’t happened. Behind our house, down at the end, we lived on a cul-de-sac and at the end of the street there was a really pretty, thick woodlands and a brook, and I just started going down there every day and wandering through and going in the brook and looking for frogs—you know, just kind of all that kind of stuff that somebody would do alone. I didn’t feel lonely. I loved it because I had the company of the woods and the creatures and everything. And so, that was sort of a saving grace for me. And then, in that wandering there was so much discovery and I think I just started paying attention to all the little things that I saw: the creatures and the sprouts and the new growth. That experience of really feeling connected to the wildness around me, the surroundings, that helped me to feel closer to myself, and to heal from the trauma that I was experiencing.
The Sweetness Off Each Other’s Bodies
Although October days are still hot, I harvest the winter squash,
buttercup and turban not growing any fuller
on their shriveling, waxy vines.
The ropy umbilicus is easy to cut,
so I finish the work quickly, take my clothes off,
make a pillow of my shirt and lie down
in the high desert meadow of browning yellow gamma.
A few blue flax still bloom
among the Mexican hats and blanket flowers
whose colors bleed maroon to red to orange to gold, as if washed in warm water.
Above, bees and June bugs swarm.
Each one lit with its own current,
which follows the insect like a contrail.
Yesterday I gathered the honeybees in my gloved hands,
dropped them into jars, and dusted them with powdered sugar to kill the mites.
The bees become ecstatic when released,
eat the sweetness off each other’s bodies.
Before dusk I walk into the nature conserve, take my seat on the bench above the pond.
All autumn I’ve watched two beavers gorge on water lilies.
Their front paws move like trowels,
as they scoop the plants quickly into their mouths.
The smaller one looks up from eating,
keeps its eyes on the larger one swimming closer
and tips its face slightly out of the water.
Through my binoculars
I watch their anticipation, then I see their mouths meet.
They press their lips together, and hold them there.
About the author:
Elizabeth Jacobson was Santa Fe’s fifth Poet Laureate and is the author of three poetry collections. Her third book, “There are as Many Songs in the World as Branches of Coral” is set for release in 2025.
About the host:
Steven Law is the co-producer of KNAU’s series PoetrySnaps! He is a poet, essayist, storyteller, and the author of Polished, a collection of poems about exploring the Colorado Plateau by foot and by raft.
About the music:
Original music by Flagstaff-based band Pilcrowe.
Poetry Snaps is produced by KNAU Arizona Public Radio and airs the first and third Friday of each month.
