between the concrete
sidewalk
and the concrete curb,
self-sown,
scaled down
to this narrow, parched
strip of earth,
is spreading,
as best it can;
seeding, dying back
to leaf and root crumble,
blown dust.
The air down at their level
is filthy
with black carbon, oxides, hydrocarbons,
gas and particles,
but the mosses,
the thin-bladed fescue gone
to seed, a radiance of grasses,
spillovers
of cloverleaf, broad-leaved
rosettes of plantain,
the sharp-toothed
dandelion,
the tiny yellow five-petaled
flowers and small
trifoliate leaves of wood sorrel,
clustered flutes
of white clover—
life could begin again
from such as these.
—
Maura High lives in the piedmont of North Carolina. Most of her poetry is an exploration of this landscape and its complex past and present, the relation of land and water with the humans and other-than-humans that live here. Much of her understanding of this landscape comes from years of fieldwork with The Nature Conservancy. A native of Wales, Maura brings to her work the musicality and traditions of that country. Her work has been recognized with awards and publication. For details, see maurahigh.com.
