ACORNS

Acorns

Black squirrels in Sunnidale Park,

and Nancy saying they’re so much

bigger than the ones down east.

Three acorn caps—a trinity beside the path—

the rest, the cups, are scampered up a tree,

nestled away for winter.

Acorn in my palm, and another way of seed:

tiny hole in the side where a moth’s pupa will emerge.

Later, the vacated shell will lodge ants or snails,

mites, even a determined beetle or two.

Under the oak tree, then, an insect trailer park.

In her palm, a Mexican jumping bean

gotten from a dollar store: mariachi music,

sombreros and ripe piñatas come to mind,

along with laughter and fireworks,

cartoons and children’s games.

Inside the bean is another larva,

this one born for a Latin sun.

It jumps away from her body’s heat

in exquisite pain;

it’s generation will be a still-birth,

or else a brief, desperate-winged search

for a too-far home.

 I WROTE THIS A FEW YEARS AGO. Two female co-workers at the time were the template for “her” in the poem. Nancy was a young gal from out East who had a lively sense of humour, and a strong family and work ethic. One day she mentioned, out of the blue, what she thought main difference was between the provinces of Nova Scotia and Ontario was: squirrels were bigger here and our pizzas were smaller. ("You have big squirrels and small pizzas.") Had I been drinking tea at the time I would have woofed big time through my nose! What a fun, quirky observation!

Around that time, another co-worker showed me a Mexican “jumping bean” that she had bought as part of a gift for her daughter. So the idea of sex came to mind. Wait…wha? Well with all the talk about beans, seeds, body heat, scampering squirrels, pupa, ripeness, etc., what else would I have occurred to me?

But eventually I got around to thinking about home—homes for seeds or pupa to mature in, the environment supporting their growth, and how any number of factors must be in accord for there to be germination and the sustaining of new life. 
I was walking in Sunnidale Park, one day, and looked down to see those three acorn caps lying by the path. I wondered where the rest of the acorns were, then I saw all the busy squirrels moving about the branches of the oak trees overhead, and realized of course, that they had taken the tasty bits and left the lids behind. Later, I imagined what might become of other detritus left behind by the squirrels, or else not picked up and squirreled away in their nests for winter.

After Carrie showed me the Mexican jumping bean, I did a bit of research to find out what they were, and learned the beans held the pupa of a moth native to Mexico. The pupa “jump” to avoid excess heat, such as might be found in their native land; it’s a survival mechanism. If it's too hot in the sun, then the pod will wither and the pupa die, so they 'jump' to find a shady spot. Up here in Canada, the story is different. It’s not too hot for them—it's too cold when they finally hatch, the mature moth cannot survive in our cooler climate.

I guess part of the idea for my poem is the need for balance, that there’s a ‘sweet spot’ in life which if ignored or not taken seriously might well put all our good intentions and works at risk, and make our efforts futile. 

     So leave Mexican jumping beans in Mexico. Share a slice of pizza with a friend while sitting on a park bench some crisp fall afternoon, and keep a few acorns in your pocket for another day.

Cheers, Jake.