Overgrazed

Anthea Lacchia

Strands of fern firmly push up through the ash,
Ash layers that cover Carrick Mountain.
The blaze lasted several weeks, so she said.
My anger, set alight by needs unmet,
Deposits stratum upon stratum,
Debris to be fossilised by the silences of our future dates.
Sulking, I read about overgrazed slopes.
Sheep let out year-round. Eroding peatlands.
Carbon escaping out of precious decay. 
Yet, green struggles through the darkness.
Shooting out, intruding. 
Lichen on vein of quartz through granite, pushing.
Up. I peer at darkened moss beneath my boots.
Stop trying to control, I whisper. 
Mind tired. Let it burn.
I say. 
Let it burn. 
Take a moment. 
And see what simmers to the surface. 
Rewilding.
Sun. River. Catkins on a limestone table top.
Cappuccino, please. Yes, with chocolate.
In 80 days all the cells in my body will be new. 

The Science

This poem was mostly inspired by an investigative piece of journalism I wrote on overgrazing in Ireland. While learning about the impact of too much grazing from sheep or wild animals on fragile landscapes and environments, I wondered if one's mind or soul can become overgrazed sometimes. Stress and anxiety can lead us to try to control our environment. Once we release control, change and renewal can happen. I also sought inspiration from a recent article in the journal Geology which reports that 830-million-year old organisms have been found preserved in halite.

The Poet

Anthea Lacchia is a writer and journalist based in Ireland. With a background in geosciences and academia, she mainly writes about science and nature. Anthea is also a trainee mountain leader, and is always looking for creative means of connecting people to nature. You can follow her writing on Twitter at @anthealacchia or her hiking adventures on Instagram at @naturetalesandtrails. 

Next poem: Rankine; My Sort of Engineer by Patrick Corbett