The wave starts in the tallest trees.
A whisper, rising.
I stop listening
To anything else — the dog
Barking, the droning
Leaf-blower, across the street.
The nearest trees
Begin bowing in anticipation.
Burnt oranges and red
Shivering on branches,
In my blood,
The crest of murmuring
Crescendoing until
My body becomes filled
With the rushing. The trees
Gyrating back and forth
As the wind took them.
As the wind took me
And I, no longer breathing, became
Breath, roving and wild, crashing
Into all that was alive.
—
Mary McAfoose lives and works in Seattle, Washington, on the unceded ancestral lands of the Coast Salish people. She holds a degree in electrical engineering, and when not working corporate tech jobs, she enjoys writing relatable poetry, reading, and playing videogames.
