READING WILLIAM STAFFORD AFTER THE RUSSIANS SHELL THE NUCLEAR REACTOR AT ZAPORIZHZHIA
There’s a place in the woods where we walk,
dog ahead, nosing out voles, the scent of rabbits,
whatever has left itself behind from the night.
I follow, slower than I once did, but still
able with my one good eye to see
that the trees are junipers, blue berries lit
with tomorrow, more vivid than the evergreen’s
fan of needles, the spray of stored sunlight.
In the deep branches an invisible bird
breaks into trills, songs to warn others of our passing.
We have our moment here today,
and tomorrow, well maybe, we are just a trail,
what we’ve left behind from our daylight,
boot prints in the mud, paw prints circling
back upon themselves, a good nose, an eye
on hope, following a trail through the woods
without war, without bombs, without fires
which tomorrow’s children must fight.
—from Poets Respond
March 15, 2022
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Al Ortolani: “I woke last week and found that Putin’s army had escalated its war by shelling the nuclear power plant near Zaporizhia, a place I’d never heard of until today. The danger is horrible. Consider Chernobyl, not so far away. Consider the future laid to waste. I picked up a copy of William Stafford’s poems and read.” (web)
