We got lost in the bog, wandering a labyrinth of trails which drew us slowly to the center. There pompons of cotton grass shone in late sun like lamps. The path spiraled away, leading through the trees. You wanted to keep walking into the deepening half light; I wanted to turn back, the only sure path home.
And if darkness came, bringing fluidity and confusion? Our eyes blindered, our minds and ears open. Full-throated dusk. Monotones. Time suspended.
We tread voicelessly, sap branching beneath our feet. Our human toes connect to tree toes dozens of feet away, the way the bog depresses with each step and the deflection carries outwards from the traveler. Our hearts in our hands offering ourselves to the world—
-Janet MacFadyen
Janet MacFadyen is author of four full-length collections, most recently Love Letters to the Wild (Dos Madres). Honors include a Massachusetts Cultural Council grant, a Cill Rialaig residency, and a 7-month Provincetown Fine Arts Work Center fellowship. She is managing editor of Slate Roof Press, a poetry chapbook collaborative: www.slateroofpress.com.
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