A Poem by Elizabeth Poreba
Criss-crossed by disturbance in the trees—
branches tossed and heaped as if
for bonfires of monstrous festivities—
and sealed off by snow annealed to shell,
the wood road was invisible.
I’d gone to get a glimpse of deer whose hoofs
had pocked paths in the debris, to note
signs of lives beside my own, grace notes
to bring home,
but got lost instead,
for their wandering led beyond the ridge
to a terrain untouched by sun, edged in pines
that soughed in sounds unknown,
and I was deeply lost, though I’d have thought
these woods were my own.