Oral History
BY SARA ALDRICH
hiking trails were a liminal space there
slid between feral and kind
listen honey the most precious things were
dewed lungs on damp mornings
and fog wreathing treetops like fingers
spindling through your insides
nights were silken wrapped in ice
so thinly st. helens seemed to open wide
oh above her lied all the universe that ever mattered
a western whispered lullaby
no - a bay window
no - a glaciated sky
forgive me for the inquisition:
haven’t you ever eaten a blueberry
among the fields in which it grew
don’t you know what sap and decay
smell like in summer when the sun is high
never have i been an idealist but
i want to become the endless rain on roofs and tarps
let me melt into elk hide
pool blind into mole hills
i want to see the mountain out before3 wee go
wear its cloud cover like robes
i pocket the way old growth forests feel still
even in the daytime
omnipotent tree lords graze the back of my neck
lodge themselves in my bones
an expanse of the world caked in moss
a place contingent on rebirth
feels like it would never end
but didn’t you know the bees are dying