Remnant Tamaracks
Glacial remnant they are called
as if a remaining swatch
of what was once whole cloth
and I can’t stop thinking of them,
the tamaracks of Faville Grove.
how they grow out there—
forest beyond the reach.
That even if I were to boat across water
to the tamaracks,
there would be no place to beach
a vessel, or to stand.
How,
amid bright green growing prairie
tamaracks float in their own millennia
dark-hued, water-soaked. Preserved.
Left behind.
How,
when prairie turns to fall
and green drains to amber
tamaracks stand ocher gold,
bold against duller land.
*
Once, in a Swedish museum I saw
the body of a medieval man left in a bog,
soaked in its peat and cool tannic waters.
His leathered face was peaceful. His reddened hair
and even the bog-held weave of his clothing
preserved for all time.
*
Oh tamarack island, footprint track of glaciers,
do you still hear the companion song
of vanished boreal forests?
Encircled as you are by forbs, flowers, farms,
bees, and trees, do you still carry memories
drowned beneath the stars?
Catherine Young is a disabled writer and performing artist whose work is infused with a keen sense of place. Read more.