JJJJJerome Ellis

Who went forth? Who went home?

I bring the camera and tripod and shutter release cable to the field. I approach the plant, talk to them as one talks to a grandparent one doesn’t call or visit enough. When the stutter starts bubbling up, open the shutter. Release the stutter from throat to air, close the eye of the camera. Each stanza a chamber with curtains drawn.

“We may forget the teacher, but our language remembers . . .,” writes Robin Wall Kimmerer in her book Braiding Sweetgrass. She describes herself as a “mother, scientist, decorated professor, and enrolled member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation.” I have learned so much from Braiding Sweetgrass and am grateful to her for sharing it with the world.

The photographs become documents of lessons. I the student approach the plant as teacher within the classroom built by the stutter.

Pass on, hand gliding through river, plaited seeds down the spine of morning.

In this photo, I kneel before a group of pink flowers called Meadow Beauty or Rhexia, stuttering as I say to them: “I kneel before you, Elder Meadow Beauty.” The photo is blurry. In the background is pale green foliage beneath the sky. The sky also looks pale green. I have brown skin, black hair, black beard, and am wearing a black t-shirt. My eyes are closed. 

Text written for Pounds Per Image 4, edited by Shannon Ebner.