Pondering Sessions
By Jena Lui
1 Shush! Do you ever stop
and listen to nature?
Its music makes me smile.
I hear the same things:
wind, birds, and now,
the burble from a tiny pond.
When home became two-and-a-half
hours away, those two-
and-a-half hours look like a blur,
and by the time I reach my destination,
my trail blows away only leaving
misty landscapes in my memory.
Nothing is familiar except maybe
the way the asphalt roads
made for a bumpy ride.
2 Walking around lost like a bird who has flown
out of the nest for the first time. My ears, my eyes
are my only guide
while I pursue an active quest
to find familiarity beyond the sun and the moon.
Uncharted territory outside of home.
Not hostile but unreal like when
wind blows kisses to my ears,
sun prickles the spots on my arm
that have not spent much time outside,
or squirrels squealing to my face
from their established homes.
A welcome? But intimacy
I am not sure I can accept.
I keep hearing a splash of water,
universal sign of life.
Maybe there is something for me here.
3 Keep passing by the same pond.
Different paths beyond.
But the moment triggers memories in the muscle.
Passing, passing, passing.
Keep passing by the same pond.
Eyes make instant connection, a new bond.
It looks different every time.
A glance here.
A glance there.
Day,
noon,
night.
Repeating processes. Momentary stops in memory.
4 Another person behind, wondering if I belong. Maybe
I do not, but this is the closest thing to nature. Sound
of an ongoing stream of water. Beautifully engineered.
Tears of nature that go:
“drip, drip”
“plop, plop”
as someone’s feet go:
“tap, tap.”
I wonder if anyone takes care of the beauty.
Independent life. Untouched. Please. Never forgotten.
Now, isolated part of nature.
Ecology Study Project. Living Laboratory.
I have no right to judge. I know nothing
about nature. Algae. Miniaturized daisies. Little lily pads.
Let’s read more paper descriptions. Comptonia peregrina?
(Sweet fern?) Yet they seem to decay away for days.
Scattered weeds? But why are such remarkable wonders
a source of frustration to us, to the landscapers, to us?
Better let nature fight it out.
The names of fauna are foreign.
Research would not help.
5 My origins are two-and-a-half hours away.
Belonging seems impossible
when I am not in my natural element. Yet,
as I keep passing by the same pond,
I see new roots growing.
Jena Lui (she/her) is an undergraduate from Susquehanna University studying Creative Writing and Publishing & Editing. She is a writer and editor for Susquehanna University’s chapter of Her Campus. Additionally, she is an editor for The Lit Mug. Her poetry can be found in Quarantine Literary and with Omnivisum Press.