“Past the Houses –/ Past the Headlands –/ Into deep Eternity –“
—Emily Dickinson
The island has no answer but boats.
Day after day, pears scrape the road and sweeten.
The island has no answer but it holds open a few
windows to a steady green view.
Time lands its horizon in dashes.
The horizon clusters its perimeter in birds.
The paths have seams; the heron, prey.
The island farms change shovels as they dress for summer.
Once on the island I began telling my small dreams to the trees.
My dreams, even the worst, climb up ninety feet.
The island in one small corner turns grief
into alabaster. I meet all the women.
We talk of shame then pack it in drawers
upstairs on the island.
The island sings. Flexes its roots. The island knows
it is not only wet on all sides. The island is not
useless in the middle, no matter what
the signs say. The island’s North Star arrives
Friday night casually shouldered.
The island is spilling over and back and if you go,
please carry a basket of light.
Every day you are there, wake up to more
canopy. Every day, walk
halfway and halfway back to see
fish sip the slippery water. Logs pickle with seaweed.
I was there once, this island.
The slugs saddled in yellow lengthened.
I want you to also believe the earth will make it.
Lauren Camp is the author of eight poetry collections, most recently In Old Sky (Grand Canyon Conservancy, 2024), which grew out of her experience as Astronomer-in-Residence at Grand Canyon National Park. She has received a Dorset Prize, a Glenna Luschei Award from Prairie Schooner, fellowships from the Academy of American Poets and Black Earth Institute, and finalist citations for the Arab American Book Award and Adrienne Rich Award. Her poems have been translated into Mandarin, Turkish, Spanish, French, and Arabic. Camp served as the second New Mexico Poet Laureate (2022-25). www.laurencamp.com