SUMMER 2025 Curator: Simona Carini
Survival Time
by Simona Carini
ISBN: 9798985524246 —
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Simona Carini was born in Perugia, Italy. She writes poetry and nonfiction and has been published in various venues, in print and online. Her first poetry collection Survival Time was published by Sheila-Na-Gig Editions (2022). She lives in Northern California with her husband, loves to spend time outdoors, and works as an academic researcher. Her website is https://simonacarini.com
Light on the Trail
At the threshold of the redwood forest, I drop
what weighs me down, walk upright
eyes drawn upward to the trees’ high branches,
downward to the trail, its coffee-colored surface
marbled with slippery roots requiring careful steps,
sideways scanning the understory for western trilliums.
Spotting one, I pause, bend: three white petals
like large butterflies resting on three heart-shaped leaves.
They will fade to pink, purple as they age, then fall,
leaving the leaves as testament, as promise
to bloom next spring, resurrect from the rhizome
running underground alongside redwood roots.
With a deep inhale of earthy air, I stand up:
a salute to the forest, the flower, the self.
Divestment
Ma-le’l Dunes North, Humboldt Bay National Wildlife Refuge
Walking on oceanside dunes, we expect
our steps to sink, to wrench our feet
from the sand’s clutch, make arduous progress
to where the beach bathed by waves is compact.
Grasses and flowers evolved to thrive
in barren soil, salt-carrying wind, sun-blanching fog.
A walk along the tideline shared only
with scurrying sanderlings and driftwood logs.
We climb the foredunes, turn all around
to savor the view: sage green ocean under low clouds,
beach, backdunes, and just past them, trees,
before our gaze reaches the bay.
We enter the shaded vaulted space
and resinous air of the forest,
floor embroidered with pale, lacy reindeer lichen,
dotted with bright red kinnikinnick berries.
When the vista opens again, hills of pale sand,
mountain-stable to the eye, yet in constant motion.
Standing still, we might hear it as a murmur.
Sand, paragon of poor habitat, yet the richness
around us, like a secret, like something we see
if we divest ourselves of expectations,
drop even our clothes, like St. Francis of Assisi,
renouncing all worldly goods.
