Field where wildlife idles
near a rolling-hill roadside,
wooden fence butting ancient oaks, sprawling yews—
all that separates pavement from tall grass.
Acreage auctioned;
the timber drops, dominoes,
one and then another felled.
Those lives abruptly cut short—
I marked the time,
Last breath taken 8 February.
Trees aware of one another,
I imagine each sensed its imminent demise
among roots intertwined,
tangled for so long
they were as one flesh.
Nature sleeps through the cold months;
perhaps they felt nothing,
dreams giving way to dark.
I hope they weren’t roused
long enough to witness sibling or lover
downed, sap slowly clotting.
—Published by Pulp Poets Press on the 27th of January 2024
(First published in Mother Nature Burns by Sunday Mornings at the River)
About Amanda Coleman White
Amanda Coleman White is a writer currently working toward a PhD that combines creative writing and Celtic myth. She has been a featured poet with Indolent Press, and has poems published in literary magazines such as Channel Magazine, Obsessed with Pipework, After Happy Hour Review, and The Dawntreader.