Rena Priest, an enrolled member of the Lhaq’temish (Lummi) Nation. She served as the 6th Washington State Poet Laureate (2021-2023) and was named the 2022 Maxine Cushing Gray Distinguished Writing Fellow. Priest is also the recipient of an Allied Arts Foundation Professional Poets Award and fellowships from the Academy of American Poets, Indigenous Nations Poets, Nia Tero, and the Vadon Foundation.
THE FOREST FOR THE TREES
Rena Priest
I have seen a tree split in two
from the weight of its opposing branches.
It can survive, though its heart is exposed.
I have seen a country do this too.
I have heard an elder say
that we must be like the willow—
bend not to break.
I have made peace this way.
My neighbors clear-cut their trees,
leaving mine defenseless. The arborist
says they’ll fall in the first strong wind.
Together we stand. I see this now.
I have seen a tree grown around
a bicycle, a street sign, and a chainsaw,
absorbing them like ingredients
in a great melting pot.
When we speak, whether or not
we agree, the trees will turn
the breath of our words
from carbon dioxide into air—
give us new breath
for new words,
new chances to listen,
new chances to be heard.
===
TOUR OF A SALMONBERRY
Rena Priest
A salmonberry is a
luminous spiral,
a golden basket
woven of sunshine,
water, and birdsong.
I’m told that the birds
sing so sweet because
of all the berries they eat,
and that show you
can have a sweet voice too.
In my Native language,
the word for salmonberry
is Alile’. In Sanskrit, Lila means
God plays. Salmonberries
sometimes look that way.
Every year they debut,
spectacular in the landscape,
worthy of their genus name—
Rubus spectabilis, meaning,
red sight worth seeing.
Each drupelet holds a seed
and the shimmering secret
kept by rain—of how to rise,
float above the earth, feel
the sun, and return.