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Appling I grabbed the dictionary and flipped more pages and all kinds of things seemed to be verbs: “to be a hill,” “to be red,” “to be a long, sandy stretch of beach” . . . Robin Wall Kimmerer, on learning Potawatomi Braiding Sweetgrass Who is being an apple tree? My friend over there with the shady leaves. My sister with white blossoms in her hair apples temptation, sweet-fleshed and comely. Apple sister roots herself, entwines with honey pear cousin, dips into mycelium buzzing news of the forest. Who is being a forest? Who shades the moss? Who wears the lichen mantle stands sentry at the mouth of the river. Who is the river? Did anyone ask to become the summer evening air sedulous with dew? Who dews in clear globes remembering cloudburst she will do, has done, will do? Who am I breathing tree breath if not tree kin? If not apple and worm, bacterium and spore? When I was rhizoming, the mineral-rising surged through, while you were beaning nitrogen into the soil, which earths tirelessly—for so long, for so long-- but what glad work it is! You can view the video of the poem reading here: 
 Cleveland Wall is a poet, mail artist, and librarian in Bethlehem, PA. She performs with poetry improv troupe No River Twice and with musical combo The Starry Eyes. She is the author of Let X=X (Kelsay Books, 2019) and many small, handmade chapbooks.
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