Chipko 1978

We set off singing and with drums
close together in the pre-dawn grey
summon courage on the winding path.

Our feet talk to the dry cracked earth
where other trees once stood. Dust
blows determination in our eyes and mouths.

I lay my cheek against the knobbly bark
wrap arms around its years of growth
listen to sap rising, leaf-speak, green,

try not to see Amrita Devi , axed down
with her arms about a tree. My small heart
set against the strength of money.

The loggers are felled to silence at the sight:
bright saris flower against each dark trunk;
the forest, a garden of women.

(The Chipko movement saved a Himalayan forest from being cut down for tennis rackets.)