On a clear day, before humans
made their mark, an eastern hemlock
decided, This is where I’ll spread
my shallow roots and take my time
reaching for the softest blue of sky —
I remember when you first made your mark on me.
Time slowed down for height, girth,
pollination. Winds whispered to the conifer’s
naked seeds in a swirl of breath, hoping
for at least one to find purchase
in the rich dampened earth —
My palms pulsed against the ridges of your cinnamon brown bark.
Here and there the softwood tree
flourished, conspired to create
a community where countless
species thrived – wild ginger,
white-tailed deer, warbler, wood sorrel —
My city-dulled body yielded under your grove’s cool embrace.
We met during my first real hike
in the mountains of New England
and you, Tsuga canadensis, are
my first love, whose reminder
to cherish what’s here remains —
My fingertips tasted the lemon-rosemary of your tender needles.
Wounds were cared for and lungs
brought back to brightness as
the evergreen gave its tannin-rich
bark, sap, young green needles
to people who learned how to heal —
On my tongue, I pressed the history of your scent, a prayer memorized.
But even a giant is vulnerable
to industry, climate, insect
invasions, drought – a dim death
drawn out before our eyes,
a tree and its ecosystem in hospice —
My arms encircled your strength as my eyes drank your feathery silhouette.
And I meet you, still, in the hollows
and caves of Hocking Hills,
in the cathedral woods of Cook
State Forest, in the clouds
of memory marked by time —
Like an origin story imprinted on my body’s blank pages.
—
Shei Sanchez writes from her farm outside Athens, Ohio. Her work appears in many fine places, including Orchards Poetry Journal, Hawai’i Pacific Review, Women of Appalachia Project’s Women Speak Volumes 7 to 9, Les Delices Music Meditations Project, Sheila-Na-Gig, and Light Enters the Grove. A Best of the Net nominee, Shei can be found teaching yoga, writing in the woods, or meandering in the meadow with her goats.
