[Issue 2023.66]

‘Smells of Brine, Witching’, Devin Miller

Art © 2023 Dr T. Eratopo

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Quiet have I lived at the border between
woods and sea. Here where shorebirds scurry, forage,
where wrens, juncoes make busy life in tree homes,
here have I breathed salt.

Here I breathe leaves decaying. Water moving
makes stones smooth and small and sand, one day. Fungus,
under trees, turns plants slowly to soil, it creates
newness from old things.

As I create. I, who have given myself
power, simply by holding poems open
in my hands. I feed myself dreams and strange facts,
compost them, build worlds.

Witchcraft, sea and saprobic fungi, minds too.
Witchcraft, borders like this beach, where trees’ fingers
trail in high tide waves and flirt with kelp, reaching
for what will change them.

Queer it is, to want the sea from land, to want
roots and soil from water and shifting movement,
queer to want this composting, decay, smooth stones
between worlds, this love.

Create one thing from another, get worn down by
judgment, by scorn, by water, mushrooms, by time.
Put both feet in sea mud and tangle hands in
trees, wanting this life.

© 2023 Devin Miller

[Issue 2023.66]

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