In five tiny snapshots, Louise Morey Bowman traces a life from guarded youth to memory after loss. The opening fern stands stiff and self-contained, not yet open to summer; then a mother cat’s watchfulness becomes an image of motherhood, anxious but aware of something miraculous. “Home” turns quiet and strange: a dying fire, moonlight, furniture that seems to talk, books that hum. In “Awakening,” an old tree that has survived winter feels a vague restlessness at March, as if age still senses change. The final tablet is elegiac—sunlight on bronze and love on the spinning earth, while the speaker carries someone on her heart. The overall mood is meditative, tender, slightly haunting: life is not a straight line but a set of fleeting, quietly charged moments.
Life Sequence — Summary
(Unready)
Close-folded fern ... So stiff; so coldly self-sustained: But summer passes.
(Motherhood)
Puss watches the world, Troubled: but knows she is linked To a miracle.
(Home)
Empty room; fire dies; Moon shines in; chairs and tables converse; Books croon songs.
(Awakening)
Gray old tree Has breasted winter storms; but is vaguely Worried by March.
(Memorial Tablet)
Sunshine on storied bronze: Love on the whirling earth: And you on my heart.