by Hannah Darling Fenn
To return a thing back to where it was born
Spiraling into what would be or wood be,
Knowing magic is true
And ripe like a child does.
In their ever-essence, never hapless.
The closest ones to the stars
And to what some call the great mystery.
Like all the stories we’ve ever eaten
To be closer to the poet.
Pomegranate, as the shell of a thing unwalked.
A thousand small moments in the
Anticipatory field of being an edible seed.
Of being ruby red
Of being something for the seers.
And if we wear furs
To ward off creatures, but they
Like some spirit of forest,
Do they know what we know?
Have they ingested the rhymes
Far better than we ever could?
Are they, perhaps, the new kings,
Here to help us find the place
We were born.
This poem by Hannah Darling Fenn is in response to the equally poetic exhibition Lost in the forest Nameless by the artist e.j. solie. Images from the exhibition are below. You can view the exhibition through January 14th, 2023. Liminal Space Gallery, 139 N. Lake St., Neenah, Wis. Gallery hours are Mondays and Fridays, 5–8 pm, and Saturdays, 2–5 pm.