I would rather put a chainsaw to my legs

 

I would rather put a chainsaw to my legs

Tips of branches turn yellow;
needles float down as from heaven.
My heaven, a redwood forest.

I sweep duff with broom, leaf blower,
snow shovel, mounds rumpling earth
like rough blankets.

Mornings from the wood pile
accompanied by a toddling daughter
I’d cradle logs in my arms shaking off duff
and carry to the wood stove, warm fire.

I install a furnace, forced air.
Thirty years pass — to the redwoods, the blink
of an eye — and I dig, duff mining  
to remove a prickly hill of decay
interlaced with roots of relentless ivy.
Long overdue, I’m restoring my little half acre
so giants can outlast me, outlast a millennium.

Here — two feet down, a plastic tarp
over stacked bundles of fungus, once firewood.
Beneath it all a long lost baby spoon
shaped like a rusty kangaroo.
My daughter would stash gifts
for little critters, mice. Now men.
Received. My heart in heaven.

……

First published in Visitant — thank you editor Andrea Janda