Ritual for the New Ancestors
As the moon wanes, watch
for the raft of coots
floating on the water
too frigid to swim in,
small bodies clustered
close together the way
we humans might gather
in our grief when
it is possible to gather.
Let the strong wind
pass through you––
have you seen the wind
comb a field of bluestem?––
and wait to feel something
untangle, your sharpnesses
suddenly smoothing. An owl
will call out above your head;
let it fill your hollows.
There will be stars
caught in the water;
let your dark eyes
mirror that shine.
A white stag will appear
at the edge of a wood,
and you will know again
your own heart.
What I tell you
is not a fairy tale.
*
Heather Swan’s creative nonfiction has appeared in Aeon, Belt, Catapult, ISLE, Edge Effects, Emergence, and Minding Nature. Her book Where Honeybees Thrive: Stories from the Field won the Sigurd F. Olson Nature Writing Award. Her poems have appeared in About Place, Cold Mountain Review, The Hopper, One Art, Phoebe, Poet Lore, Midwestern Gothic, The Raleigh Review, and Terrain, and have been included in several anthologies. Her collection A Kinship with Ash (Terrapin Books) was a finalist for the ASLE Book Award and the Julie Suk Award. Her chapbook, The Edge of Damage (Parallel Press) won the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets Award. She teaches writing and environmental literature at University of Wisconsin-Madison.
such a beautiful story, beautiful poem
Thank you, Rosemerry!!