Held aloft in a plywood room
where ink stamps and old stickers wallpaper the place,
sun dapples its greeting in a slow shift of tint
and ants welcome whatever creature
makes its way up the ladder.
No windows to wash,
each opening frames an acorn’s view
on the jewelweed field, the fallow pasture
and oak bark rising like a chimney of warmth.
The tree’s slow growth envelopes a cable
and pushes nails from their places.
Roots ground the foundation
deeper each year.
Sarah Wyman teaches and writes in the Hudson Valley where climbers kick granite dust down to a river-sea. Her recent work has been featured in Mudfish, Ekphrasis, Aaduna, Petrichor Review, and A Slant of Light: Contemporary Women Writers of the Hudson Valley. Sighted Stones, her chapbook, appeared last year.