Allelopathy
By the center of a wood,
trees become immune to blight
that attacks the outskirts miles away.
The forest nervous system is an efficient network
of tree root, fungus, and bacteria. Today,
sitting on a fallen log in the center of the pine grove,
that great brain stretches beneath me. I listen
to the insect racket and breathe the pine sap.
I focus on the pounding of this tricky organ
within me. I look up; tree branches
don’t compete for sunlight; the tips of twigs stop
exactly where the next tree reaches, puzzle pieces
flush to their neighbors. Here in New York
we live stacked in rows. After the flood,
the streets were crowded with rolled rugs,
waterlogged furniture, and crumbling boxes.
Every line was busy, every house active.
I know some think it’s easier on their own,
but have you seen the stumps
the other trees keep alive below the surface?
After Ida
We saw how root-deficient
a city can be. Around the homes in Queens:
cement, lawn grass, and AstroTurf
unable to contend with the changing
climate. Where the brush is wild,
the ground is a sponge,
torrents be damned.
I tried to be like that
when everything hit the fan. A garden
with underground absorption
to mitigate flood waters. I planted
hearty growth with thirsty root systems.
I cleared cement to make way
for greenery. I dared the storms to come,
and of course they came.
Emily Hockaday’s third full-length book, Blood Music, was published in 2025 by Harbor Editions. She is also the author of In a Body and Naming the Ghost. Emily writes about ecology, chronic illness, parenthood, grief, and the urban environment.
