Every apple I quarter – Jonathan, Delicious,
Gala – I’m reminded of the first time I bled,
surprised at the red that had been blue in photos
of the body. Apple’s skin red, but its insides
white, and black-inked words about fear
on white paper calming my inner shaking.
The ground shook when Mt. St. Helens
blew – an aftermath of white sticks that once
had been trees and inches of ash – a living
picture of that religion I’d once lived in.
I went to a tree, wrapped my arms
around its trunk. Started looking at photos
Hubble shot back to earth – a cosmos
grander than my understanding. Living under
the shadow of Mt. Rainier, I know it’s
behind schedule, that soon the whole valley
will shake and fill with lava and ash. Then
I remember that forty-two years after
the 1980 eruption there’s a new lush green
world. New varieties of apples, too, each one
with a star. And in the ashes of my childhood
faith, I planted seeds in what is holy: fir trees,
apple trees and flowers named star jasmine, star
magnolias, Egyptian… Then today in a photo
the Eagle Nebula dubbed the Pillars of Creation –
cold gas and dust light-years long – a nursery of life
blossoming 6,500 years distant.
—
Susan Landgraf’s Out of a Land of Alkali and Chromate will be published May 2025. Previous books include Journey of Trees, Crossings, The Inspired Poet, What We Bury Changes the Ground, and Other Voices. An Academy of American Poet Laureates award resulted in A Muckleshoot Poetry Anthology published by WSU Press in 2024. She’s published more than 400 poems in Nimrod, Prairie Schooner, Poet Lore and others. She served as Auburn’s Poet Laureate from 2018-2020.
