Poetry by Nancy Kay Peterson
The 40-acre coulee was
mostly woody slopes
and for the health of
the younger trees
had to be logged,
just like carrots
and beets have to be
thinned to thrive.
She hated even thinning
killing vegetables,
and crashing tree falls
broke her heart.
She hated the buzzing
crack of breaking timber
branches and stumps piling up
ruts trucks were making.
But ruts would fill in
and become trails
she could hike to explore
for wildflowers and ginseng.
And decaying trunks
would support fungi, mushrooms
and prized morels.
So she steeled herself
to the pillaging of the forest
tried not to think like a tree
tried to fall gracefully
into acceptance.
Nancy Kay Peterson’s poetry has appeared in The Bluebird Word, Dash Literary Journal, Last Stanza, The RavensPerch, Spank the Carp, Steam Ticket, and Tipton Poetry Journal. She co-published Main Channel Voices: A Dam Fine Literary Magazine (2004-2009) and has authored two chapbooks: Belated Remembrance (2010) and Selling the Family (2021). Visit www.nancykaypeterson.com.
