Saginaw Forest. Photo credit: Ellen Stone
by Ellen Stone
(at Saginaw Forest)
Hanging in the air
bald-faced hornet nest,
rags in the crab tree now
while white oak leaves
still left curl into corpses—
that, a sparrow shadow,
this, an old man’s hand.
In the woods, we hear
a hoot owl call faintly
over the trees, stripped
bare – and there, shaggy
flags of white tail deer
bounding away from us.
Still, the sun glows
over the blue ice
of the farm pond,
a violet arrow
of cloud pointing
toward it, sinking.
While the other way
aiming home
pale button
of moon
like a little oath
just above us.
No matter which way
we turn, still there,
round and full
and constant.
***
Ellen Stone lives near Abbot woods on Sequoia Parkway and circles the city’s river and trees with her old dog daily. She advises Community High’s Poetry Club, co-hosts the Skazat! poetry series, and is an editor at Public School Poetry, a new literary journal.
***
This is an original poem, brought to you by Poet Tree Town, an Ann Arbor-based poetry-in-public initiative and celebration of local Washtenaw poets. Find out more about Poet Tree Town on Instagram and Facebook, or say hello at poettreetowna2@gmail.com.
