LIFE Poem: Up and Down the Tulip Poplar, by Sante Matteo

If not scampering on a tree
and for its long and bushy tail,
it could be a chipmunk.

It must be a young kit
just out of the nest.
But how boldly it scurries
up and down our old poplar!

Now, down on the ground,
it pauses, looks about, sniffs—
fearful, excited, curious?—
roves through the grass,
stops, crouches, then springs,
leaps onto the birdbath
in one fluent bound,
perches lithely on the rim,
pauses, smells, inspects,
flicks its reddish tail,
dips its head to the water,
and drinks . . .
and drinks . . .
and drinks . . .

So small, so quick, so thirsty!
Weaned from mother’s milk,
its thirst for life still unquenched,
it now guzzles thirstily
from nature’s wellspring,
to nourish the surging vitality
of supple young sinews and organs
and to savor novel sensations:
the discoveries, fears, and delights
of its first furtive forays
out of the nest into the world,
a skittish, quivering plunge into
the vibrant, mysterious flow of life.

Maybe it’s flaunting its agility,
proving its incipient skills,
showing off its fragile beauty
for its mother, who is watching—
fearfully, anxiously, proudly?–
from a far-off treetop nest.
And for another mother,
gazing through the window
as she sips her breakfast tea.