Witnessed In This Death

a rediscovered poem

Mar 13, 2025

Thank you for joining us this week!

Before we begin, here’s a little bit of context for what you’re about to read…

I am currently in the midst of migrating my online and professional life from one computer to another after my trusty Chromebook of nearly a decade has started to show signs of irreparably slowing down. Though this change is bittersweet, it’s definitely way past time, and I’m just very grateful I have another refurbished laptop in my possession that should do the trick nicely for the next leg of my writing journey.

In my sorting through old files to move or discard I found the following poem, which I don’t believe I’ve ever shared here on The Wildroot Parables before, at least not in whole.

The poem, called Saint Peter, was originally published by an online literary zine called Bez & Co. in January 2022. At that time I was a writer without a cause. Blogging sometimes but unable to stay consistent. Tired of social media writing, but desperate for readers. Deep in the weeds of trying to figure out where and how to get my writing seen by a wider audience. That little zine was a small passion project by a fellow WordPress writer; I appreciated so much his willingness to publish me and pay me five whole dollars for it, too!

Bez & Co. is no longer active, but I find it interesting that only a month later after this poem was published I found and began posting on Substack. I could never have imagined how my writing would change, when I wrote these verses!

I hope you enjoy this poem, reposted here in a more permanent home. It’s always been one of my personal favorites: an ode to the sacred beauty found even in the death of a living thing.

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And now, on to the piece…

a tree that has been cut down in the woods — Photo by Robin Billy on Unsplash

Saint Peter

A poem (originally published by Bez & Co.)

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

the small dead fir
had hidden behind a taller hemlock
until the storm
brought it to its knees,

tipped near the top
snapped
head downward
shaggy and undignified
against our driveway.

that’s where the dog and I found it the next morning,
puffs of breath in the cold sunlight
we walked around it,
admiring how it had hidden there
until this moment of revelation;

the dog investigated its top-most branches
seeking out bird-hymns and bug-psalms
as yet unsniffed;

but my nose could only find the sweet scent
of the dozens of usnea lichen that had grown
soft and fragrant
slowly eating away at the dead limbs;

and I thought: what a fate
for your true beauty
to be witnessed in this death,
shaggy and undignified,

a testament
upside-down.