Marybeth Holleman

I’ve loved Ginkgo trees ever since a college botany professor told us how they drop their leaves in a single day, ever since meeting my first one on that campus and watching the sudden goldburst abscission. The more I’ve spent time with them and learned how their history is linked with ours, the more deeply I’ve become enamored. Invited to write poems for the forthcoming anthology Convergence: Poetry on Environmental Impacts of War, I leapt at the chance to write of the astonishing Shukkei-en Ginkgo. In this poem, and in all my work, I aim to give voice, or, rather, reveal the voice of the other-than-human world. To write about/of/for/with them--with them—I listen, slow down, be with them, listen longer. I try to get out of the way while maintaining awareness of my human filters and limitations. At my best, I become a translator, a conduit, the words just coming through me. It’s my life’s work, to praise the more-than-human around me. And, as I witness this mass extinction, to honor who leaves and love who remains. Ginkgoes, in their resilient beauty and harmonious coexistence, have much to teach. They’re also simply glorious trees, with leaves like fluttering fans.