Jill McCabe Johnson

photo by Dennis DeHart

IN THIS LAND, EVERYTHING

is my mother. The mahonia berry 

and dogwood blossom, swordfern 

and fen. She taught me taxonomy, 

showed me shape so I could find her 

after her death, burgeoning 

in trillium and salal 

tadpole and fawn lily, 

bursting in a puffball of spores 

everywhere, everywhere.

Jill McCabe Johnson

PACKING FOR PEACE

After Matt Hohner “How to Unpack a Bomb Vest"

i. 

             when you say you’re packing 

carrying 

armed 

loaded for bear—I want to believe 

you’re carrying 

a kind of mettle 

facing fear 

with friendship 

maybe a nest of 

hummingbird eggs 

filled with marvels 

peace requires so much more than 

weapons and 

explosive 

shells 

ii. 

fill your bags with dandelion seeds 

the stuff of wishes 

you can launch 

in the wind—cram feathers and the taste 

of wild strawberries 

into pockets 

of torn memories 

palm the scent of lilac 

pine-sap spikemoss 

and hollowed out cedar 

offer these to strangers 

the unspent 

promises the 

blossoming 

of dreams