Hacking Hedges

The coppice cries out when it is thinned

—cries in a thousand small voices

that grow louder with the smell of new

growth. Humans climb the ravine,

grab a branch, any branch will do—

gnarled branches are best to grip

a stubborn hand holds the whole

snarled heart of the hedge bends

but does not break. The human feet

leave the ground for a second

or two, long enough to feel hope

that something might hold.

Then the roots remember ancient grudge,

and the human falls lands among

the thicket and the smell of crushed

green. Any gnarly branch will do,

until the moment they realized they weren’t

reaching for a branch at all,

they were reaching for the hatchet

and billhook to silence the cries.