The melancholy sound of taps
rolls across the Parade Ground,
coming from way back
when this military base heralded
the clarion call and response
of marching men full of strength
and harshness. When time threaded
country to country and the big guns
went to Europe during World War I.
Now a state park, Fort Worden’s
empty bunkers over-flow with visitors
who scramble to explore secret tunnels
descending into darkness, their shrieks
of laughter rise into the sky
with no apparent trajectory.
Today on Searchlight Road Trail,
my steps slow amidst dense trees.
Staggering to think of their roots
entwined with soil for hundreds of years;
branches—tongues carrying more secrets
than they can bear.
At the clearing, I begin with a deep breath.
Open myself to red cedar and ancient
Douglas fir up on Artillery Hill
and what they hold: an old language
spoken into the pines, carried on wind
across time. Their intimate moans
need no translation—peace
floats out over the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
Pat Phillips West’s poems have been published in various journals including Haunted Waters Press, Clover, a Literary Rag, San Pedro River Review, Slipstream, Parks & Points & Poetry 2019, and elsewhere. She is a multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee.
Banner photo by Rick Gordon : CC BY-NC-ND 2.0
