Wild Sarsaparilla

Hudson Review, The, Winter 2004 by Chapman, Robin S

Trios of mostly five-leafed stems

a foot high under the arborvitae cover

if we walk here next year and the next,

we'll learn they're not beginning trees

but the understory. Wild sarsaparilla,

ginseng family, we could find in a book

if we looked close enough, and this

is the knowledge of things that allows

the long-dead, whose stories we've lost,

to speak to us in our language-

how the roots, brewed to make a bitter tea,

can cure toothache, sore throat, heart pain.

And the warning: take only the main root,

leave the side roots to restore the harvest.

If we stay with the saw-toothed leaves, rain comes,

filters through the canopy, streaks our faces,

runs down the leaf veining, drips

from the dark purple-black berries.

The red squirrel drops green fronds

of arborvitae at our feet. Sunlight

picks out each one of us for an hour.

Wind comes up in the afternoon.

We breathe and breathe-leaf mold,

mist, hemlock, harebell, fern. Bend

with motion in the air-gull cry,

hummingbird, cicada chirr.

Shade takes in dusk. New creatures

walk. Deep and secret in the root,

a sharp truth concentrates, bittersweet,

that could cure our pain.

Oh, how can we not love our lives?