Ewen Glass
She Moved a Forest for Him
Plucked the trees out, one by one, root by root, sapling and grand dame alike; she hauled them over streams creating millipede seams in the unearthing, and planted them deep where he grew by shadow and reach, one by one, root by root. Deranged eco-systems, she fixed what she could. After more than a year of work, beguiled by exhaustion, she presents this new forest to him; to a shrug. It’s a bit one-note, isn’t it? She thinks of millipede trails, thousands of little legs getting out of there, but only nods. She could dig a valley for him.
Ewen Glass (he/him) is a screenwriter and poet from Northern Ireland who lives with two dogs, a tortoise and lots of self-doubt; his poetry has appeared in the likes of Okay Donkey, Maudlin House, HAD, Poetry Scotland and Gordon Square Review. His debut chapbook ‘The Art of Washing What You Can't Touch’ is available from Alien Buddha Press.
Twitter/IG/Bluesky/Threads: @ewenglass
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