Shadows stretch across the parched cliff side.
Beneath blackberry brambles, the lupines sleep.
The sea below keeps its darkness hidden
under lace, under shifting ripples of sun glint.
Overhead, heaven empties to thoughtless blue.
Day after day, the invisible clears all possibility of divinity.
No visitation in brume, no cloud in sight.
Deer shoulder the vacancy above.
In moth-eaten coats, they nibble the tips
of thorn bushes behind the wire fence.
Spring withers with the earth’s thirst.
Dewless.
This rainforest without rain has the smell of peril.
Cedars burn slowly, smokeless,
browning from the crowns downward.
The waves voice their moans.
Our eyes produce no tears, at least,
not enough to fill the creeks. We long for
what we squandered, the ruined
picnics and sports days, the outdoor wedding
crowded underneath a dripping pavilion.
Such happiness in what’s missing,
in mists that comb the woven hair,
the damp skirts of cedar trees.
Each limb reaches for meaning beyond
our desiccated imaginations. Chthonic water
attempts ascension, the great chain of being.
The trees offer their exhale to a tinder world.
Click here to read Susan Alexander on the origin of the poem.
Image: photo by Arnaud Mesureur on Unsplash, licensed under CC 2.0.
Susan Alexander:
Every morning in most seasons, I take my coffee out of doors to look at the ocean and the sky and the mountains. It is a holy moment where it is clear to me that I am an infinitesimal part of an enormous organism. My most constant companions are the towering conifers of the west coast.
Trees have a wisdom beyond the human. We humans live on the surface of things, but trees connect the underworld with the earth and sky. We humans roam, always searching for more resources, while trees stay rooted to place and use what is given to them. They are generous, bringing us oxygen, wood for building and warmth, and asking for nothing in return. They continue faithfully despite the climate catastrophe that we bring down on them and all creatures. Over the last three decades, I have witnessed changes in this particular place: unseasonal heat, prolonged droughts, an increase violent storms and of course, many trees dying.
The medieval scholastics believed in a specific hierarchy of life and matter that begins with God and then descends through angels, humans, animals, plants and minerals. Humans were placed just below the angels in this great chain of being. I don’t have time to go into the details, but my poem hints that trees are far above us on the chain. I reimagine their vascular system, xylem and phloem, as the real chain of being. The word “chthonic” pertains to the underworld.
Susan Alexander is the author of two collections of poems, Nothing You Can Carry and The Dance Floor Tilts, Thistledown Press. Her poems have won multiple awards and have appeared most recently in The Southern Review as well as multiple anthologies and literary magazines in Canada, the U.K. and the U.S. Susan has hosted poetry readings and panels for the Federation of BC Writers and Victoria’s Festival of Writers. She lives on a small island on Canada’s west coast.
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Absolutely beautiful and poignant – breathtaking observances and such deep understanding – no wonder this masterpiece was published! Congratulations Susan!!
This is an exquisitely crafted poem. I really enjoyed reading the poem.