Tom Sexton: New Poem

Creamer’s Field Wildlife Refuge

by Tom Sexton


Beyond the wide fields planted with barley

for the cranes, a speck of boreal forest

with nature trails, wild strawberries, pale iris,

seasonal marsh crossed by boardwalks now

jumbled like pick-up sticks thrown down

by a witless hand. The permafrost is melting.

All around me, birch and aspen are slowly

moving north, refugees with no other choice.

“You knew this was coming,” they seem to say.

Summer solstice. Yellow leaves drifting down.