May I find my way in, from wherever I am,
past loamy bones of fallen logs
unmaking themselves as mushrooms rise.
May I be steadied by the give and gift
of pine needles underfoot, by the hollow knock
of a northern flicker, by the call and response
of chickadees.
May I be thankful for fur snagged on brambles
when a vixen hurried back to her den.
For coyote scat, starburst of berries and seeds,
dropped in the middle of a root-knuckled trail.
Show me snow split by hooves,
the skittery glyphs of a white-footed mouse,
possum print pressed into mud before daylight.
I am here because I am yours.
I am yours because I am here.
May the trees stand their ground, feed each other,
let us breathe.
Author’s note: This poem has been etched onto a wooden plaque and permanently installed at Eagle Pond/Little River Sanctuary in Cotuit, MA, as part of the Barnstable Land Trust’s “Words in the Wild” project.
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Brett Warren (she/her) is the author of The Map of Unseen Things (Pine Row Press, 2023). Her poetry has appeared in Canary, Cape Cod Review, Halfway Down the Stairs, Hole in the Head Review, ONE ART, Pinhole Poetry, and other literary publications. She lives in a house surrounded by pitch pine and black oak trees—nighttime roosts of wild turkeys, who sometimes use the roof of her writing attic as a runway. www.brettwarrenpoetry.com
