Seven-foot span with tail,
a scale matching first-growth trees
Miocene beavers carved meadows from forests.
dam after dam --
their giant gnawing shaped the wetlands,
clarifying water, saving silt.
Group log rolls dammed streams,
shaped a buzzing species interweave
wary cohabitation.
At stream outlets
log islands floated
spreading seeds
breeding peak riparian scenes.
Great shapers of water flows
snatched for fashion
trap by trap
hat by hat.
"From Beavers this Rivulet" was published in Issue 10 of Written River.
<http://writtenriver.com/>
I was delighted to learn shortly thereafter that beavers are now being encouraged to recreate riparian zones and help with drought concerns.
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Colors of Heat and Cold
My brother had known him,
the boy who drowned. Not well.
Townspeople spoke in muffled tones.
I heard only that he turned blue.
I pictured a sallow pastel shade,
the color of veins through pale skin.
I had yet to witness death
but the thick silence declared it impermeable.
When hurricanes kept us housebound,
I watched rain blasts and the roaring waves
of the Gulf of Mexico across the street
through Nana’s ornate front window,
my private kaleidoscope,
intrigued with its stained glass panes of
cobalt blue, viscous clear, and cranberry red,
awed by the force of wind and water.
We edged it, merely,
the Gulf. Perhaps we were forbidden
without adults, who seemed
in short supply that summer.
Not much given to swimming,
we dipped nets for crabs,
hauled them up, ran giggling
when they crawled out on the pier.
I wouldn’t eat them.
I’d seen them turn bright red
and petrify in steaming water.
I had yet to learn to give thanks
for the lives that feed us.
published in Earth’s Daughters Issue #88, themed "Ebb."
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Blindside: for Bam at 103
Your ravaged eyes picture librettos
long known by heart,
as you mouth the arias’ words.
Never bored, your
fragile limbs venture on dream trips,
escapades missed in your youth.
Ripe resonant voice
tells of discussions with Dad,
decades dead, your sweetheart still.
This frail hand I hold
opens in generosity -
probes toward the void -
could wave in the night
goodbye
and no one see.
published in Chronogram September 2016. http://www.chronogram.com/