as if by magic the durian orchard
relieves – in anticipatory deliciousness – an ash grey sky
& the morning’s striated silver meeting
dawn makes for
a promising celestial cascade & no quota
rules this post-solstice daybreak & there are few
if any trials though a cord of firewood sits waiting
roadside & English ivy wound round the oldest
oak suffocates or embraces (the thickest
unbudgeable vines
the width of a wrist – someone advises removal
& laugh all out at such ridiculousness) indeed
we are of mixed opinions on that question though
we walk beyond
only hoping for resolution/ some compassion
even forgiveness & I think these trees
are souls’ breaths matriculating to a new-
found tired old world as notched & nicked we’ve done
our damnedest to bring them to arraignment (we keep trying
so hard to repair/ to admit/ to forget
what’s come & quit)
& because of who we are we talk & talk
of antecedents famously cold winters & windchilled
snowfall & squall & whiteout & insomuch borne against
ruderal facts & figures & nitty gritty just tell me
what to hold on to reckon on – sworn
by gospel in cuts & stacks –
when fish shacks stranded & unconstrained
float on floes when the ice is out & it should be four
feet thick on Red Lake at Beltrami in January
Mara Adamitz Scrupe is an environmental installation artist, filmmaker, poet, and essayist. She has authored seven award-winning poetry collections, her poems and essays have been published in literary journals worldwide, and she has been the recipient of many international literary and visual arts awards, prizes, residencies, and fellowships.
