WORDNEWS27

White Noise is a forest poem, a celebration of leaves rustling and the power of trees. Next time you go to the forest, listen.

White Noise – Forest Poem

Among weeping leaves, the wind drinks drops of rain and 
       clads the oily greens with the sun’s golden glow;
 Below the weeping willow, nothing but white noise and 
       the earth’s mulch and shoots. We lay on the flat of our backs, 
 our eyes sown on heaving leaves, out of the blue, gurgling droplets 
          gushing down our cheeks. Were we weeping when 
 we could have been sleeping? Maybe she did not let us, maybe 
          they longed for us to hear the grace of branches 
lifting and shifting back and forth around the willow’s silken trunk, 
her arms drooping
          to draw stars on blades and sing along the bud’s turquoise hymn        
 in the rain. Still swaying, the twigs sweep away the webs in 
          through our windows, I spot a bird jiving, another
 gliding on the crown, now leaning east, then mouthing south 
          toward our skin. In between the shades of green, 
 we can hear the peppered blue and now, 
the leaves are sleeves.

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Anita Alig

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