September 2020
Sylvia Cavanaugh
cavanaughpoet@gmail.com
Bio Note: As a child I found terrariums to be fascinating, in that they felt like little worlds. My grandfather made them for us from plants he collected in the mountains of Pennsylvania. This summer I have been reading a book of essays by Loren Eiseley and found that he made terrariums as a child. I have published three chapbooks, the most recent of which is Icarus: Anthropology of Addiction. I am also English language editor for Poetry Hall: A Chinese and English Bilingual Journal, and I serve on the board of the Council for Wisconsin Writers.

The Time We Were Gods

Pop-Pop went to the woods
one Saturday
and came back with a terrarium
filled with deep emerald mosses
blue-grey lichen clinging to stone
and feathery ferns
all gathered from a faery circle
he finally found
having heard about it from his uncle
years earlier.
 
The terrarium rested 
on the old upright piano
and not only was it a place
of green mystery
it even had its own climate
separate from ours
like the breath of something holy
protected by glass we could gaze through.
We tended and guarded 
this small world as if we were gods. 
 
We humans adore nature
like a rush of new love
that shows great promise.
We fashion its essence
with our hands and tools
like Buckingham Fountain
or a vanquished maharaja’s 
monsoon water palace.
©2020 Sylvia Cavanaugh
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