Left the city before the first sirens.
Crossed the bridge, crossed the valley,
Its blossoming orchards and dormant crosses.
Let the car carry me against the streams
Running the other way, as if they knew something
I didn’t. Reached Yosemite. Paid my fee. Left keys,
Wallet, phone, everything identifying me behind
And started up the path to Mirror Lake.
Passed tourists taking selfies, backpackers consulting maps.
Beyond the lake: no one. The trail narrowing, the light
Floating up the sheer cliffs, leaving the valley
In shadow. A branch held a blue flannel shirt
Out for me. It gave me a chill, being offered clothes
Clear out there, but it was nothing compared
To the chill a dead oak gave me like a ring
Last worn by the dead. I stopped
As if ordered to, having never before seen a tree
Tremble like that tree was trembling, the tambourines
Of its dry leaves rattling in a breeze that didn’t stir
Those of any other tree. The thing that spooked me
About the leaves was how perfect they were even though
They were dead, like the willow motif carved
Into the headboard of my childhood bed.
It was as if they were trying to pass for living leaves
And in so doing betrayed the tree, like stars
Sewn onto clothing. The tree seemed to be shivering
And I felt I had come to the place where
The earth fears for herself. This fear was nothing
Like our fear of terror or the warming of the planet
But a wordless, private fear we were never
Meant to know. And I felt like a boy who,
Hearing a strange sound upstairs, climbs
The steps and sees, through the keyhole,
His father weeping, and knows that
What has always been so
Certain will never be certain again.
This poem stopped me in my tracks. It’s deeply evocative of how things felt just about a year ago, and for many, that feeling continues. It’s a blessing to have a poem like this to capture, and simultaneously unlock, what it’s like to be alive right now. Thank you.