When all the news is bad or worse, my ears
ringing like a din of night insects—just swelter
and drone—I quiet my bones with the thought
of quaking aspen. Trembling Giant: grove
of thousands of trees, all with a single system
of roots. A million years old, bright fluttering
of gold against blue. And when I think I can’t
take in another sorrow—each a stone stacked
up like a cairn on my heart—I remember how
the jaws of a snake unhinge. Its mouth opens
and opens to enfold what’s impossibly large,
patient swallowing followed by a length
of rest. And when what we’ve done can’t be
undone, hope just a speck on the future’s
woolly back, I jumpstart my wonder with this:
the snow in Antarctica is sprinkled with the dust
of ancient stars. While we hunted and gathered,
the galaxy glittered and lay itself down in our light.
This poem first appeared in Solastalgia (JackLeg Press, 2023).
—
Brittney Corrigan is the author of the poetry collections Daughters, Breaking, Navigation, 40 Weeks, and Solastalgia, a collection of poems about climate change, extinction, and the Anthropocene Age. Brittney was raised in Colorado and has lived in Portland, Oregon for over three decades, where she is an alumna and employee of Reed College. Her debut short story collection, The Ghost Town Collectives, won the 2023 Osprey Award for Fiction from Middle Creek Publishing. www.brittneycorrigan.com
