In the bay, as always, I think about plunging into the water. Far out in the surf are porpoises, but no fish are biting. The path curved around the island and we looked into it: eyes into eyes, and holly branches improbably stretching upward where the sky is grey. Later, I had questions for you— like where were you looking when I was on the edge of the water. Why are we always standing next to each other, but not facing each other? Which part of the island is more stable. Which part bows to salt spray. When will the solid land become a series of smaller islands? In the sunken forest, the trees were pruned by saltwater. I feel very far away from my own body. On the boat, I tried not to fall off, and later, on the bus, we rode backward. 

– Jackie Sherbow

Author’s Note: This poem was written after an ecology tour of the Sunken Forest at Fire Island in Long Island, NY, a maritime holly forest. The landscape of the place is very unique, strange, and beautiful, but like many environmental phenomena, it is at risk of existence due to climate change. It had me thinking of the immense power of environmental forces, and how places adapt and try to maintain roots and foster growth while under pressure. I began thinking, then, of the similar precarity of human relationships and connection.