Among jack pines, breathe botanic sighs, waves of leafy unconcern.
All competing roots delve for trace nutrients soaked in soil, paint for
granite hypotheses, shields of stony belief covering unrelenting volcanic
core. Above sits the one small child atop picnic blanket spread, mossy
green, gazing silent with curious eyes to grasp cerulean skies,
clarity cross-hatched in the fewest lines of frothy white vapor. Airplanes’
steely husks barely perceptible, assumptions in contrail mist. Mesmerized,
his mother, his uncle shout, “How they should be ashamed, filling atmosphere in
spray, government planes, poisons they’ve selected. Damn chemicals! Stay
hidden beneath these branches – stay safe, dear William under earthy mulch
from this mouldering conspiracy, as did our ancestors of Ockham, (c.1287-1347).
Crystal Snoddon is a poet from Canada.