After this last argument
and its blind corner, our truck
rocks over the next dark stretch—
a forested corridor

addled with ruts. I see it
then, misty brightness begging
the familiar heart-sinking
sigh: Clearcut. I open my

window, let in other air
than ours. I shove out my fist,
grab bold tassles of foxglove
suddenly hemming us in.

Arrogant waves foam downhill
and up. Magenta lances
aim like missiles against skies
poisoned white with overcast.

Your yodel scatters finches
from berry bracts. I ask you
to stop driving. Checking lens
apertures, I posture at

the lip of the meadow, try
to capture digitalis
purpurea, anchoring
blooms to a backdrop of dead-

fall, knowing the photos I
want won’t work in any light.
Sun leaks through clouds in controlled
burns. I climb back inside our

cab and we regain the trees,
soothed by their shadows, at least—
our quarrels deferred to fire-
side sleeping bags and moonlight.  

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note on the poem: syllabic poem with 7 counts per line

previously published by Tower Poetry, Winter 2001-2002, plus honorable mention in 2001 Louisiana State Poetry Society contest  

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Tamara Kaye Sellman is publisher of MARGIN and a publishing consultant for the anthology, Obliquity (Tuesday Night Publishing, 2006). Her work appeared recently in Cézanne’s Carrot, Clackamas Literary Review and Writing it Real. She has published poetry in North American Review, Spoon River Poetry Review and the award-winning anthology O Taste and See: Food Poems. Sellman is a proud Seattle “bus poet” and received a Pushcart Prize nomination in 1998.
Website: www.tamarasellman.com
recent anthologies edited by Tamara Kaye Sellman  

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