Connie Soper

A Word for It

Imagine walking in the woods to sit by yourself
on a fallen log, switching off the noise within you.
The Germans have a name for it: Waldeinsamkeit—
forest solitude—when you are alone
but not lonely. Alone, except for scurry in the understory,
the foxglove wilding purple slopes; except for
coastal winds howling the spirits of ancestors.

You’ve been here before, where the forest creeps
onto the trail with guttural sounds rooted in rocks,
cliffs and chasms all the way to the end of the cape.
And you will return again and again, not needing anything
but the comfort of your own company.

The old growth writes a language of solitude—
whorls, scars and rings marking time and storm.
Even the deadening trees have a story to tell,
their skeletal shapes pinning landscape to sky.
Each dark branch scrawls an alphabet inviting you in,
one that only you can read.

Imagine a vocabulary so complete,
a thesaurus so rich, that you can find a single word
to name what you see and all you want to say:

pleasure when resting eyes on a quiet place,
small as a hummingbird’s egg,
the weight of rain on roses.

Connie Soper is a poet living and writing in Portland, Oregon. She likes to visit small towns, hike, and walk along Oregon’s public beaches. Many of her poems are inspired by these experiences as well as other travels, and have appeared in Ekphrastic Review, Catamaran, Cider Press Review, Sky Island Journal, ONE ART, and elsewhere. Her first full-length book of poetry, A Story Interrupted, was issued by Airlie Press in 2022.