The Ferns

Years ago, I wrote a poem about ferns. It was after my separation from my first husband and I was feeling lush and angry. I think of these lines often:

The ferns though,

those unapologetic Fuck Yous, little manifestos 

of how finished I am with him are lush, wild.

Thank goodness the anger is gone, though I still have my moments (wish there were more) of feeling lush. Ferns find their way into my poems frequently. Here they are in another poem:

At the beginning of a

small outcrop of ferns, I

feel myself at the tip of

the universe.

That one brings ferns into the lushness of grief. Ferns, in their fullness, find their way into my poetry frequently. They inspire me so much that I want to spend some time trying to articulate exactly what it is about them that resonates with me. I can't get enough of them in my life, and in my writing.

The ferns outside our screened-in porch in our backyard