At Home in the Wild
My best self is parked
in a lightweight tent
hiking boots waiting
for the sign to move
The best I can do is approximate
the motion of the stellar jay
skittering from branch to branch
eyeing dog food left out
near a slowly rushing creek
The morning is another miracle
sudden eruption of barking
in the campsite’s distance
after the god of light has risen
over the low hill--
Here, I am a humble visitor
bowing my fleeced neck
to the grumbly fire
as water boils, simple fragment
in a book of symbols--
ruffled lowing, high-perched
twittering, hushed chatter
in a lightweight tent
hiking boots waiting
for the sign to move
The best I can do is approximate
the motion of the stellar jay
skittering from branch to branch
eyeing dog food left out
near a slowly rushing creek
The morning is another miracle
sudden eruption of barking
in the campsite’s distance
after the god of light has risen
over the low hill--
Here, I am a humble visitor
bowing my fleeced neck
to the grumbly fire
as water boils, simple fragment
in a book of symbols--
ruffled lowing, high-perched
twittering, hushed chatter
Everyday Apocalypse
The brown tree ring
inside the coffee mug
will not clean itself.
Dish rack, when dirty,
needs the good lick
of a wet sponge.
The cat needs to be fed
twice a day and taunted
by a string of feathers.
It’s easy to forget
I have a body
that needs me,
a neighborhood
that needs me
weaving circles through it
with my feet. Taking out garbage
is a reverent task. I scrub
the sink, sort the closet,
water down the roots of plants
it’d be easier to forget about.
Sometimes, I forget
about orangutans swinging
their fists at logging machines.
Coyotes trot the streets.
Opossums shine in the night.
Hopelessness is not productive
so I imagine watering holes
expanding, return books
to their places, strap on shoes.
There have always been leaves
falling, and children running.
The television screen flickers.
I wake to harvest rain.
inside the coffee mug
will not clean itself.
Dish rack, when dirty,
needs the good lick
of a wet sponge.
The cat needs to be fed
twice a day and taunted
by a string of feathers.
It’s easy to forget
I have a body
that needs me,
a neighborhood
that needs me
weaving circles through it
with my feet. Taking out garbage
is a reverent task. I scrub
the sink, sort the closet,
water down the roots of plants
it’d be easier to forget about.
Sometimes, I forget
about orangutans swinging
their fists at logging machines.
Coyotes trot the streets.
Opossums shine in the night.
Hopelessness is not productive
so I imagine watering holes
expanding, return books
to their places, strap on shoes.
There have always been leaves
falling, and children running.
The television screen flickers.
I wake to harvest rain.
Nancy Lynée Woo is a poet, community organizer, and 2022 Artists at Work fellow. She has also received fellowships from PEN America, the Arts Council for Long Beach, and Idyllwild Writers Week. Her work has been published in The Shore, Tupelo Quarterly, Stirring, Radar Poetry, and other journals and anthologies. Nancy has an MFA in creative writing, poetry, from Antioch University and a BA in sociology/environmental studies from UC Santa Cruz. Her work is largely inspired by the magic and power of the natural world. Find her cavorting around Long Beach/Tongva, California, and online at nancylyneewoo.com or @fancifulnance on social.