by Sharon M. Carter

Lichen suffer from frequent mispronunciation. Noted for their earthy hues they are often belittled as rock scabs. Find them in most shades of green, including lime, kelly, olive, blue-green or chartreuse – anyplace they can grab enough rain. Their lacey crinolines adorn tree bark, rooflines, tombstones, and damp concrete locations. Lichens are the result of an alga and fungus cohabiting – arguments rarely occur between them, since neither will survive alone. One warning: everyone should know lichens are clingy guests. Whenever invited to a party, they ignore all hints to leave.

Green leaves steep in my cup, windfall in a miniature pond. Steam wisps into nothingness, as thoughts often do. When I was young, striving mattered most – invented goals dazzling just out of reach. Today I am a continent, three states, five cities away – all my wanderings have led to this. Once I drank only black tea, covering its bitterness with milk. Now, I hold everything I’ve learned in both hands – these tender shoots, fresh and green in a white porcelain cup. Stop everything! Look inside. Always, the next moment.

Sharon M. Carter is a poet and artist originally from England, who currently lives on Washington State’s Olympic Peninsula. She recently retired from a career working in non-profit health care systems. Her work has been published in Amsterdam Quarterly, Ars Medica, Raven Chronicles and One Art. Her poetry books include Quiver (2022); Ekphrastic Pastiche, a book of drawings and poetry (2024); and Mimosas at Sunset (2026, MoonPath Press).