—a pantoum, derived from the Malay Pantun Verse
A woman stops by, walks me the quarter mile to a clearing out back
Along a mud road across an upland rise
She shows me a crooked trunk, branches
Fallen in a cathedral of cherries and maples
Following a mud road across the upland rise
Tall trees with suckers and narrow tops crowding for light
A cathedral of cherries and maples
She says this was a peach orchard here
Through tall trees crowding to find light
Glows orange-gray hue of open wetland
She says this was a peach orchard here
And here in this clearing was our homestead
A wide orange hue of wetland swamp to the north
A cavity in the earth where the house once stood
She cups her hands saying this was our homestead
A dump for cast off dryers, engines and tires
Where the house stood was a cavity in the earth
We had pushed in the barn’s leaning walls filled with old bottles
We had freed the rusted dryers, engines and tires
We had felled and cleared tall oaks
Pushed in the walls of the barn, a detritus of tree fall
She sighs and points toward the wetland, it was a celery farm
We had felled and cleared thick hybrids, cut and burned the tops
Near water drained and rimmed by clay tile set around
She extends her arm toward the swamp, it was five acres of celery farm
Now a quagmire, a morass of low shrubs
The water drained and the muck fields rimmed by clay tile
Now lost, the life she knew subsumed
In a quagmire, sunning turtles, low shrubs
Grassy knolls, small pools home to beaver, prancing otter
We had removed her old life
The rusted horse trough, barbed wire, and a pump
Grassy knolls, small pools home to beaver and prancing otter
In a depression among hickory where deer come to sip
Close by the rusted horse trough, pipes, and barbed wire
We had cleared, no trace now
In a depression among hickory where the doe comes to sip
She points to a cultivator tangled in multiflora rose and red-twigged dogwood
No trace now, just muskrat and skunk roam at night
Lost below a spread of giant willows
She points to the old cultivator, buried in a tangle of undergrowth
She shows me a crooked trunk, branches scattered
Near vacant grass under a daze of giant willows
A woman stops by, walks me a quarter mile to the clearing out back
—
Margot Milcetich is a life-long teacher of yoga and lover of nature. She has written a memoir, Cloud Cover, of her time with Swami Bawra. Other writings include songwriting, a musical, and plays. Her poetry has been included in the Edith Chase Environmental Symposiums at Kent State University in Ohio.
