Wednesday Poems

Image:  Untitled #2 (Chaos), acrylic on canvas, 10” x10”

Earlier this week, my friend, poet Barbara Pelman, posted a photo on Facebook showing downed trees and debris on a vacant lot across from her.  Vacant, as she pointed out, unless you consider what had been there before:  Garry Oaks, lilacs, fir trees, ferns, salal, daffodils…  Barbara is heartsick about it, and this reminded me of how I felt early one morning years ago in Vancouver, when on my way to work I found myself standing in front of another lot, transformed overnight from a wild patch to stubble.  It also brought to mind the all too frequent times here on Pender many of us have found ourselves grieving the loss of forested areas to clear cutting.  So, today’s poem is Lament, from Suddenly, So Much (Exile), written after I walked past that lot in Vancouver.

Lament

Beyond a borderline of grass, and past
lilies of the valley huddled underneath the fallen
needles of the spruce and hemlock,

someone cut the brambles down.

Just yesterday, this space was air designed
for chaos, archways thick with leaves and warblers,
an untamed strip of land along a public path.

Perhaps some passerby complained

of wayward branches, thorns attacking ankles, or
an eyesore — saw weeds and wildness where
more properly a city lawn should front the trees.

The ground is stiff and stubbled now

and without song
starlings poke their beaks at broken branches.
The unrestrained has met the blade.

Today, November rain.