The Standing People, Before They Fall

source

I wake early. 

Mist is rising off the lake.

Rain taps lightly along my branches,

and down,

hitting mushroom and salal,

fiddlehead and fern,

as we gratefully drink

after long, dry summer's heat.

The earth is shaking.

I tremble.

The big-wheeled trucks move in.

Doors slam.

Men yell and laugh,

then head off,

each in his own direction.

There it is! The screaming roar

of the big saws,

the ominous rumbling

of the grapple-yarders,

the sudden crack! as my sisters fall,

roots pointing towards heaven,

beseeching

an end to the slaughter,

sap running like blood

down into the ground.

I dig my roots deep 

into Mother Earth.

I will hold on tight

for as long as I can.

But, no! Here he comes,

a Two-Legged,

with his fearsome saw.

photo by

TJ Watt, Conservation Photographer

* First Nations often refer to the trees as Standing People, in their stories and legends.

A poem from 2012, shared with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United. Come on over, for some good reading to accompany your morning coffee!