Mountaintop Removal
by JOAN KRESICH
The dead disappear
with mountaintops
gullies, reckless streams and
the dialect they spoke.
A great-grandmother
vanishes, the first county judge
Old Lila’s father
with wood rats and
the tangled wikiups they built.
Graves go missing.
The wildflower bouquet
laid by the living gone
with purple milkweed, marsh
marigold, red bee balm
and the seeds they scattered
Graves go missing.
The Disturbance Poem
for Terry Tempest Williams
by JOAN KRESICH
The disturbance of telling your truth
of telling a hidden truth
of breaking a cultural pattern
The disturbance of speaking
of asking questions
of asking hard questions
of searching for answers to hard questions
The disturbance of silence
of grief
of using grief to power action
The disturbance of turning I into we
of making common cause
of loving the commons
of defending the commons
The disturbance of hope
of keeping hope alive no matter what
The disturbance of having a vision
of speaking your vision
of being a visionary
The disturbance of noticing beauty
of creating beauty
of insisting on beauty
The disturbance of refusing to be invisible to power
of unfurling yourself in front of power
of withdrawing support for the machinery of death
The disturbance of walking toward conflict
of courage
The disturbance of holding fast to love
of purifying light
of giving all support to Life.
The Golden Mean
by JOAN KRESICH
A maroon sedan pulls to the curb.
A woman emerges in a detonation of limbs,
and flailing, opens the back door. A young woman
unfolds, her straight black hair falling over her face
like a curtain. Chains wrap around her wrists,
holding them together, and her feet too.
She is shackled. The two disappear up the steps
and into the courthouse.
Under her baggy pants and t-shirt is the body
the young woman was born into. The body that is now
caught in a trap, under a bowl devised for her by someone,
somewhere. She’s a butterfly, a small mouse, stilled,
heart perilously close to bursting.
The proportions of the body are unwavering,
like the waxing of the moon, like the swelling
of the tides, perfection with no rent, no small stain.
In his sketchbooks, Leonardo da Vinci traced the arc
of the thigh, the arch of the foot, the beauty of the thumb.
With ink flowing, he drew the golden mean.
In the courtroom, the young woman stands
before the judge to make her plea. Finger to palm,
calf to thigh, length of head to body,
every ratio already sketched,
already a masterpiece.
Joan Kresich is a writer and educator who has worked in schools for 35 years, both in general and special education. She is the author of Picturing Restorative Justice: A Vision of the World We Want to Live In. She is a climate and social justice activist, joining with others to bring about sustainable practices that nurture and protect people and ecosystems.
