There's a place between two stands of trees
Where the grass grows uphill
And the old revolutionary road
Breaks off into shadows near a meetiing-house
Abandoned by the persecuted
Who disappeared into those shadows
I've walked there picking mushrooms
At the edge of dread
But don't be fooled because this isn't a Russian poem
This is not somewhere else but here
Our country moving closer
To its own truth and dread
Its own ways of making people disappear
I won't tell you where the place is
The dark mesh of the woods
Meeting the unmarked strip of light
Ghost-ridden crossroads and leafmold paradise
I know already who want to buy it
Sell it and make it disappear
And I won't tell you where it is
So why do I tell you anything?
Because you still listen
Because in times like these
To have you listen at all
It is necessary
To talk about trees.
DARK FIELDS OF THE REPUBLIC
Adrienne Rich
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