Treefall – by Ben Boegehold

Gray stones and brown leaves strewn underfoot.
Lucy laughs with pleasure at the crinkling
sound. High above us on either side,
mountain peaks catch the last bits of daylight.
An eagle wings low and Lucy calls out,
“Bird!” White tail feathers, frost moon. Our path
follows a growing stream, trickles between
the work of glaciers past. The forest is thick
with trees, young and old. “Trees fall down,” Lucy says.
I try to explain how it works – big trees,
when they get old, fall and make room for new trees
to grow, but what I’m really talking about
is what it means to be a parent or
a child in this madly spinning world.

Ben Boegehold lives on an island on the coast of Maine. A graduate of the Stonecoast MFA program, his work has appeared in journals such as the Cincinnati Review, Cider Press Review, The Stonecoast Review, Canary: A Literary Journal of the Environmental Crisis, and Tinderbox Poetry Journal.