Fall/Winter 2020Poetry

Poems by Anne Bergeron

night at cracker lake, glacier national park

150 glaciers were present in the park in 1850; today 26 glaciers remain – U.S.G.S.

above the castellated ridge
ice dislodges barren battlements
snow disaggregates stone
our cognate gnawing its bones

somewhere a prehensile wolf
augers ivory
growls over gristle
skins sinew skeletal  –

we follow warm mud plops
thick with thimbleberry
a plodding grizzly –
blood relative    exile    roan.

in the tent at dusk    we float
flotsam          in an old sea
where whale plunge
toward a furlowed future

no nostalgia here
just you, me
the one earth, gravid-
void      hungry     alone.

but blue basin sluices
darkness inside us
hope’s ovule buds:  nut   marrow
we howl      our echoes
begetting song floes long disowned

below a scoured ridge, ecstasy
bares glacial teeth, carves teal fractals
avalanches memory
(bellies full of berries)

                                    chants us home



miscarriage at the edge, had rien, thailand

“The total area experiencing coral reef damage in Thailand
has increased from 30% to 77% in just one decade,
according to marine ecologist Asst Prof Thon Thamrongnawasawat.”
Bangkok Post, 29 January 2018

on lithic sand
            south china sea
pale green wavelets    lick
            violet necked cowries
as froth lathers my fingers.

soft-shelled creatures
            shuck their shells   vacant,
my fingers strum
            sterile coral   littering
this thalassic homeland.

I don’t need a map
            to tell me what isn’t here
my own chamber
            a bloodied carapace   echoing
barrenness back to me.

dear stillborn scion and silent heir:
            today as whimbrels skim
simmering currents
            while the sun’s strange tentacles
overbrine a warming sea

reef the main mast with me  in requiem
            for fevered broken waters
scrum the future
            with memory
while I graft our grief for sails.

Anne Bergeron writes, gardens, and spins wool in a handmade house she built with her husband on a wooded homestead in eastern Vermont. Five sheep, fourteen chickens, an occasional guinea fowl, and two dogs roam the meadow, while coyote, deer, fox, and bobcat roam the forest. Anne teaches at a small rural academy, practices Thai massage, and is a contributing writer for the environmental journal Dark Matter: Women Witnessing. Her essays and poems can be found in Blueline Magazine, The Hopper, and Dark Mountain.

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