Requiem for the Northern Forest

Poetry / Sarah Escue

Winter buries me
                with wind-worn hands,

unhinges my jaw.
                My body is a landfill,

glinting like the mount at star-rise.
                Dusk-hushed, a moth thumps

athwart the porch
                light, folds into dust.

I burrow deep inside
                my second body—a place

to pray, a place to hide.
                Mid-eclipse, the moon rusts,

hangs above sallow pines.
                Still, the hyacinth purples

in the ice field, survives
                the snowstorm strong-stemmed.

Every day, I pray for color, growth,
                but every day I sink deeper in snow.

Sarah Escue is an MFA candidate at Naropa University, and she serves as the Assistant Editor at The Adirondack Review. Sarah has received fellowships from the Bucknell Seminar for Younger Poets and Writers in Paradise. In 2015 and 2016, she won the Bettye Newman Poetry Award. Her poems appear or are forthcoming in Gulf Stream, DIALOGIST, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, So To Speak, Damselfly Press, Milk Journal, The Mindful Word, and elsewhere.