Tag: nature

Geranium | Aspen Everett

~ South Broadway Press ~ 1 Comment
Image: Hollow Tree by Lambert Doomer 1670

Geranium

BY ASPEN EVERETT

a blackbird flies backwards from tinted window
and you are caught in its starling shadow
waking cracks climbing the sides of
these feeble buildings

the buildings are in a perpetual state of falling
only grey skies hold them in place

the grey tone of your voice contemplates weather
as if that were the only geranium
your throat could grow

it is better to speak in chrysanthemums,
lupine, perhaps shooting star

this city led you, little antelope,
into a cunning enclosure

you never learned how to jump,
never learned Indian Paintbrush
but you know how to run

wide open calls you home
in a language of blue
blue that holds your heart in place,
keeps it from killing you

your pillow was covered in blackbird feathers
if only it were a sign

winged thing sits on your chest in the night
to cry, but not in words

paved over rivers can still drown deer brothers
and sisters, if only this were fable

then struggle would be no more than lesson
transformation wouldn’t be so fatal
curses could be lifted with the correct incantations

you are hooves and ochre, sawdust and iron
blessed by coarse calico, be they ropes or binding

this city called to you three times and
three times you answered with lips like milkweed

your geraniums are malnourished monotone grey
where is the wild thing you once knew?
was domestic chosen for you?

remember to run when the wind calls
remember the buildings will fall
do not let them take you when they topple

you are so much more than this Underland and ash
you are flowers and flight
you are the generation of beginning

plant your seeds in the mouths of everyone you meet
may it be brighter when they speak
to sew gardens over civilizations

a place without shadows or fences
where antelope run
and run, and run

Aspen Everett is a full-time parent first and a writer as often as life allows. Hailing from the wide open plains of Kansas, Aspen writes with wind in their lungs and muddy rivers in their blood. Aspen is the author of Tributaries from Middle Creek Publishing, Instructor with Lighthouse Writers, and chair of Geopoetics with Beyond Academia Free Skool. They live in Boulder with their teenager and stubborn house plants.

to be human is not an act of desecration | Laura Leigh Cissell

~ South Broadway Press ~ Leave a comment
Image: Mohit Tomar 
to be human is not an act of desecration
 
to live humanly is not anathema to nature. 
I do not apologize for my humanness.

-----------------------------------------------*

I do not apologize for the flower I picked
and carried in my hand to the mountaintop.
I spoke to the flower like an old friend 
then loosed her on the wind 
watching petals and stamen soar 
across the river rich valley below.
I do not apologize for this.

-----------------------------------------------*

I do not apologize for the shade I stand in
cast by brick and mortar and bitumen.

I do not apologize for the steel faucet I turn
loosing earth-cooled water from buried pipes,

filling my mouth with metallic-tinged life
crystal and blooming, pouring down my chin, 

splashing crisp against my bare feet.
I do not apologize for this seasonal waterfall.

------------------------------------------------*

I do not apologize for trails followed through grass and wood,
for the dent in the forest floor where I sat 
and shared lunch with a kingfisher: 
----------He, a silver-green fish, snared fresh
----------I, clementine, grown far from this alpine stream.

------------------------------------------------*

To be human is not an act of desecration.

I am nature as trees
nature as salmon spawned in rivers far from the sea
nature as lichen on scree
nature as lion, as leopard 
----------as beaver, as bison 
nature as wildfire, as hurricane
as water lifted as mist, as water dropped in flakes
as daisies carpeting desert sands.

I am nature as the curious cat–
slow stalking intrigue
delight of game, of pounce
of crunch, of blood
glutted and full of mouse.

I am humanness.
I am holiness. 
I am a masterpiece.

Laura Leigh Cissell (she/they) is an autistic, queer Texan expat residing in the Colorado foothills. They are the head of data analytics for a tech startup, an MFA candidate at Regis University, a spouse, parent, and occasionally a poet. Laura’s greatest sadness is that all the sea turtles of the world will never know how much she loves them.

Languishing | Eli Whittington

~ South Broadway Press ~ 1 Comment
Image: Josh Hoehne

Languishing

Oh!
How we languished!
How we laid, and sat, and crouched
In shady buildings
As the sun burned above
How we scrolled, eyes rolled
Glazed
How we tucked fingers into familiar patterns
Familiar shapes greeted us
How we giggled inanely at short silly videos
How we condemned
Strangers from afar
How we fretted!
How we exhausted ourselves
Doing nothing
And never slept.

O,
How we languished!
In the shade we laid
And sat and crouched
On porch steps and stoops
As the sun burned
Freckles into polaroids of summer memories
How we rolled cigarettes
And plucked strings
Into familiar patterns
How we condemned politicians from afar
And fretted
About garden pests and
Polluted rivers.
How we exhausted ourselves
Doing nothing.

And O!
How we languished!
Grins splitting like ripe fruit as we
Sat and crouched
On leaf-littered ground and
Moss-covered tree-limbs
We laid in the shade of fruit-bearing trees
As the sun simmered above
How our eyes glazed in the dappled shade of the canopy
How we tucked fingers into familiar fur
Nibbled our neighbors lice
Giggled inanely
At our children’s antics
How we napped!
How we fought
Strangers from afar and
How we fretted
When the storms
And the big cats came
How we exhausted ourselves
Doing nothing
And slept
Like the dead.

Eli Whittington published a book entitled “Treat Me Like You Treat the Earth” in 2019 through Suspect Press. Eli is a queer, bi-polar Colorado-raised and Denver-abiding poet.  They are a parent, a singer/songwriter, gardener, carpenter, tiler, biker, and hiker.  Despite these character flaws, they do not enjoy IPAs.  Their love of folk-punk remains unexplained, as they are not an addict, are well over 20, and have functioning eardrums.