In Forested Terms
Maybe bear knows, would weigh in
about pulling dandelions—uprooting them, i mean
pushing the forked blade down, grip-levering, feeling for
the giving way
until we both break a little, each time. Who am i
to choose who lives in this place
i mean, our paths are not so
different
even bear carries this seed fluff, her winter-night coat
shedding blooms along every trail, spreading
up the ridge, past grass and moss and into scrub
always at home in this place
bending, i pull another
believing they aren’t the same—this tearing to protect
native sub-alpine flora, and the other
uprooting and dividing, detention and deportation
culling that, instead of balance, leads to our mutual
demise. It’s an aberrancy, in forested terms
but still, that’s the story
we keep telling that story
i bend again, tugging another root in what isn’t
a battle, in which none of us win, believing
in this coming and going as timeless as
June’s dandelion light
we change each other. Perhaps
in time
that will be enough.
i stand, root in hand, listening for bear
here, in this place
where no one is home
where all of us are home
where we carry each other, still