Your lineage is wild as this landscape.
When you arrived by sea as flotsam
the mountains rose to take you in.
I was charmed by your story,
the way you framed the forest—
lighting the musky deer trail.
This is where it began you said,
the place rain mingled with stars, an elixir
running down the canyon to pool on the prairie.
You sunk roots in the loose soil.
Anchored them in the basalt undertow.
Your seeds, the stones creating a ripple,
the circles growing wider and wider
until the prairie edge absorbed the last one
then rolled back on itself, blanketing the ground—
yellow, purple, red, pink.
Standing atop a hill sprouting new bunchgrass
the air smells like spring though the Wallowas still bear snow.
Brewer’s sparrows scatter your young,
coyote paws disperse them among stones.
And I wait patiently to welcome shy blossoms,
listen for them to summon the bees,
shivering in wind still carrying the scent of your ancestors.
—
Allison Milionis is a writer, author, poet and former independent journalist with a soft spot for all things wild, winged and furry. She loves her active city life, but feels most like herself when standing in old-growth forests, within earshot of a healthy, flowing river.
