by Lauren Agrella-Sevilla
Full moon bright in the sky
And sleep – uncharacteristically – does not come.
We are all of us witnesses to this bright light in the dark:
The black bears I saw today – a mother and her cub – and the raccoons,
and the site of the old sorghum field, too, next to the creek,
the one with the lone chimney up the hill where the house once stood.
Driving through the guarded, gated entrance to the housing development where we are staying,
I am struck:
Who is welcome here?
Who has the code to grant access?
The waterfall we hike to is stunning:
the Eastern Cherokee no doubt found this land abundant and sacred for so many reasons.
Along the trail – smelling musty and fertile –
we see galax, ghost pipe, spotted wintergreen, running cedar –
plants bearing White people names.
Our sons wonder why the trail is so empty –
why not everyone can pass the gatehouse,
why those who do, drive the pavement,
and fast – past the dam – blank and tall,
to brown garages attached to brown houses
with landscaped yards they hope to keep the deer from feasting upon.
Shining high in the sky tonight,
taking up space,
the moon announces her own name:
I dare you, she says, to make a bonsai out of me.
