Member Poem

we say wilderness like it’s a dirty word

as if purity is something to fear

untouched by society and progress

wild, yes, but necessary

complicated, yes, but simple

a dangerous beauty to embrace

and yet we are terrified by:

cold, heat, hunger, weakness, work

the very things that make us

fantastically alive

yet we want it easy

even when it’s poison

we don’t want to admit

our comfort is killing us

but it’s so convenient

we say, eyes glazed over

unsure of where anything originated

even ourselves

I’ll tell you:

we came out of a garden

ripe like a vegetable

covered in earth

and every emotion

ready for sustenance

drinking, eating, toiling, laughing

mourning our losses

getting up with the sun

to start all over again

but for many of us

this is only stories

images, visions, words

a longing and a loathing

fantasies of self-reliance

returning to our roots

only to find they’ve been pulled out

a herb garden on a windowsill

surrounded by plastic and steel

miles from where we came from

unsure of what it means to live anywhere

we say wilderness like it’s a pretty word

hip and nostalgic

forgetting animal instinct

the harsh reality of nature

the bloody struggle of survival

but leave me here awhile

and I’ll stay alive

by grace and my own hands

I’ll make something grow

a wild flower

inside my own wilderness