as Rock Creek Park
by Deborah Hefferon
My body meanders through
the city on a sweet braided network
of nectar-reconnaissance: wild,
wooded, quarried, and scrambled.
Smooth as packed sandy soil,
its eroded banks echo a Kingfisher’s scolding.
My body is like the shallow cap
of the red oak’s acorn, a patchwork
of outcroppings, panic grass and nettles,
rising to the crowns of white oaks,
strumming with cicadas, darting
among blue damselflies.
Half a billion-year-old rippled
rock angles through polypody ferns
and paw paw leaping down to the wooded
stream valley, splashing into clarity.
My body is a therapist, a refuge,
a samara whirling in full flower and in bud.
* * * * *
Deborah Hefferon is a recently retired cross-cultural communication trainer in Washington DC who morphed into a full time writer during the pandemic. She has had poems and essays published in Prospectus: A Literary Offering (spring 2021), Teach. Write.: A Writing Teachers’ Literary Journal (Spring-Summer 2021), District Lines (Winter 2018, Politics & Prose, Washington, DC), Ekphrastic Review (2020), Story64, anderbo.com, The Washington Post Sunday Magazine, and other print and online publications.