Lost Species poem 4: Andie Lewenstein

Andie wrote the first draft of this poem on one of my co-tutored retreat weeks on the Isle of Iona, many years ago now. I have never forgotten it, and can barely read it without weeping (especially since I live in foxhunting territory and watch the local foxes on a regular basis; they start hunting the cubs in September, when the cubs are just a few months old). Actually, there's no 'barely' about it: I can't read it without weeping, ever.

I requested this poem, as my range in this month's blogposts is not only the extinct or going-extinct species but also those we persecute. Thank you, Andie.


Genesis

And god said let there be fox cub
The colour of warm, dry sand.
Let him have a beard of white swansdown
And in his mouth the knowledge of milk trust.
Let his nose go into the truth of things.
May it find me in the nest of a green meadow
Under golden tongues of dandelion in full flowering,
The sweet and the stink of them.

May he be satisfied with fowl flesh
Warm in his mouth, the living blood of it
A taste of my substance alive and running in him.
May he grow in cunning,
Keen as the hunger in his belly.
It is my hunger.
May he be satisfied with good things.

Let him run like an arrow from the red hunter
And when the hour comes, if it must come,
That he is torn from himself,
His heart thrown to the dogs,
Let him hear close by, and closer still,
The sound of his name sung from the breast,
And the last word be mine: beloved.


© Andie Lewenstein






If you've a poem for lost, endangered or persecuted species that you'd be happy to send for my consideration to share on this blog, please do contact me.