Poetry by Lauren Oertel
I grew up near the redwoods.
Cinnamon-barked queens towered over us,
each containing their own majestic ecosystem.
They provided oxygen, a fresh earthy scent,
relief from the heat and noise of the city.
They whispered the soil’s secrets into my ear.
A few had been hollowed by fire,
or reduced to a stump.
Rings chronicled their long lives,
the history of what they had witnessed.
When I die, cut me in half
right across the middle.
See my rings.
Joys and terrors over the years
each reduced to a simple circle
that captures and carries it all.
They will honor the tears shed,
wounds healed.
The fine grain, nicks, and bumps,
all smoothed over with time,
turned into natural beauty.
When my body becomes a stump,
the rings will prove I was here.
Some of them will show when I stood tall,
lush with sprays of needle leaves,
umbrella-scaled cones.
My crown stretched toward the sun,
piercing the sky.
In those times I hope I gave you shelter
from the weight of daily survival.
That’s how I’d like you to remember me.
Lauren Oertel is a community organizer for Texas and New Mexico. Her work has been published in The Ravens Perch, Evening Street Review, and The Sun Magazine. She lives in Austin, Texas, with her partner Orlando and their tuxedo cat Apollonia.
