Tags
adaptation, aspen, bryophytes, clones, cordate leaves, ldge pole pine, lepidoptera, Pando, Pluto, Populus tremuloides, ramets, rhizome, survival of the fittest
Christ died on an aspen cross, woodmen thought.
Maybe that’s why, on slight provocation,
I quake and all my cordate leaves shiver,
so that I am known as ‘The Trembling Giant,’
aka Populus tremuloides.
Before men walked out of Africa and
when glaciers were scouring the planet,
I, Pando, was like a subterranean god –
not Pluto, but Pando, meaning ‘I spread.’
After flames have incinerated me,
my dormant rhizome will regenerate,
like resurgence of an old religion.
In times of trial, I just go underground;
in ideal circumstances, I can host
bryophytes; nurture lepidoptera.
I have the root of the matter in me,
but I share my vulnerability
with my multiple ramets – all my clones.
I haven’t flowered for ten thousand years,
in spite of a rigorous self-pruning.
See where black scars mutilate my white bark.
Invasive lodge pole pine may steal my light
and pocket gophers gnaw my root system,
but I sprout from this volcanic soil.
What I lack in diversity,
I’ll exchange for durability, for
we suckers just plan to stay together,
even when a highway runs right through us.
Master of the art of adaptation,
I will survive when all else is ashen.
