merridawn duckler

PAINTED HILLS, OREGON

Bone branches where the green continues to grow 
décor the ochre vertices brushing the ground like rose knuckles
as we march round and round the stunning wound, 
base coat, chalk, gorse, the yellow of crumpled formican 
tables. So fragile the past! How it needs our signs.
Do Not Proceed, and still we walk the checklist,
under a clear and blue sky, followed closely by
a bird that offers nothing, except for teaching,
signs and warnings. The hopeful scent sage and pine.
sprays the forest copse
these thirty million years. The leaf fossils craquelure
celebrate brokenness, where history crawls back in. 
Even as we steal land, it gives the light back. 
These painted hills, everyone loves 
their subject, how the rough, dust coated berries 
black as the eye of wild daisy 
burst, and run ahead. Our childhood runs ahead.
Nothing cares for us, and everything is a guest.

MERRIDAWN DUCKLER IS A WRITER FROM OREGON, AUTHOR OF INTERSTATE (DANCING GIRL PRESS) AND IDIOM (WASHBURN PRIZE, HARBOR REVIEW.) NEW WORK IN SENECA REVIEW, WOMEN’S REVIEW OF BOOKS, INTERIM, POSIT, PLUME. WINNER OF THE 2021 BEULLAH ROSE POETRY CONTEST FROM SMARTISH PACE. FELLOWSHIPS/AWARDS INCLUDE YADDO, SOUTHAMPTON POETRY CONFERENCE, POETS ON THE COAST. SHE’S AN EDITOR AT NARRATIVE AND AT THE PHILOSOPHY JOURNAL EVENTAL AESTHETICS.