Aerial, Wild Pine

Elise Paschen

A flare of russet,
green fronds, surprise
of flush against
the bare grey cypress
in winter woods.

Cardinal wild pine,
quill-leaf airplant
or dog-drink-water.
Spikes of bright bloom–
exotic plumage.

How they contour
against the trunk.
I miss that closeness
against my skin,
milky expression.

Before they latched,
their grief revealed
in such a flash.
Seekers of light,
poised acrobats.

Over the wetlands
a snail kite skims
tallgrass, then swoops
to scoop the apple
snail in curved bill.

The provenance
of names, of raptor
and prey, the beak,
like a trap door,
unhinging flesh.

The way two beings
create a space
for one another—
the bud to branch,
tongue against nipple.

Elise Paschen is the author of four poetry collections, most recently The Nightlife (Red Hen Press, 2017). She teaches in the MFA Writing Program at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. An enrolled member of the Osage Nation, Paschen lives in Chicago.

Themes

About this Poem

“During this period of social distancing and staying home, I appreciate now, more than ever, each encounter with the natural world. I am grateful to remember the time last winter when I wrote this poem. We were visiting my aunt, who is in her nineties, down south, and took a hike through the wetlands. This poem is about the interrelationships in nature. It’s about how we connect with each other.”

—Elise Paschen

Sign up for Poem-a-Day

After the Squall

In need of air, she unhinged every
window, revolving ones downstairs,
upstairs skylights, mid-floor French doors,
swept into the house the salt-brine,
the cricket chirp, the osprey whistle,
the sea-current, sound of the Sound,
but had not noticed the basement
bedroom window shielded by blinds,
screen-less. Later that night when they
returned home, lights illuminating
the downstairs hall, insects inhabited
the ground floor rooms. She carried handfuls
of creatures across a River Styx—
the katydids perched on lampshades,

Elise Paschen

2016

Division Street

                         ". . . Prayer book and Mother, shot themselves last Sunday."
                                        Gwendolyn Brooks


The spire of Holy Name Cathedral rose like a prayer
above Chicago Avenue. I thumbed a leather-bound book
in catechism class, recited the Hail Mary. Fire and
devils blazed at night. The nuns told my mother
I had a calling. On Scott Street a man lay shot
dead in our alley. It was the Gold Coast.  They prided themselves
on sidewalks safe as shrines. I questioned God, the last
to leave the room.

Elise Paschen

2012

Acrobat

The night you were conceived
we balanced underneath a tent,

amazed at the air-marveler,
who, hand-over-hand, seized the stars,

then braved the line to carry home
a big-top souvenir umbrella.

Earth-bound a year, you dare
gravity, sliding from the couch

to table. Mornings, on tiptoe, 
stretching fingers, you grab 

Saturn, Venus and the moons 
raining down from the sky of ceiling.

Elise Paschen

2010

Poems

Aerial, Wild Pine

More by this poet

After the Squall

Division Street

Acrobat

Poems

Page submenu block

Aerial, Wild Pine

More by this poet

Newsletter Sign Up