Arts + Scene » Poetry

Dryads Live in Sitka Spruce



Not shy as tree nymphs are said to be
not oak-dwelling, but Sitka spruce
never worry about leaves leaving and
not returning, like dawn-swept dreams.
With Artemis, we see unseen hands
hired to wrench Dudleya plants off their native
North Coast. Bluff lettuce, pale green
rosettes of fleshy leaves vermillion-tipped,
erects a stem and blooms with a cluster
of yellow flowers. Not abalone iridescent,
yet coveted, like a nymph by Pan.
Ancient wardens, we whisper suspicion into
ears ready to follow the trail of dirt.
Replanting like healing.
Don't believe in my existence, in dryads
or archer Artemis roaming forests and hills?
Believe the plunder. Tiny Dudleyas,
tall redwoods, poachers grab: it's what they do.
Spring: my home tree grows fingers of
bright needle-like leaves. I have been here eons.
Artemis too, watchful, unleaving.

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