between the fish and the ram

the time of day when the horizon is on fire
I’m on fire too
red is seeping into the blue, bleaching as it touches
is my anger painful?
I feel the coolness of January fading into the indifference of another February.

this redness is blushing, the stillness after the burning has seeped down to my core.
my anger is too painful
so I let it go, as the evening changes,
I decide
I should change too

I am primitive and wingless

How do you read? and with what?

My lips pick up the rhythm and my heart sets them among the words in my heart, how lovely when they seem to echo, I echo back and feel valid. A life lived in silence and in the dark is never empty, the searching is a lighthouse facing the sea.

Jamaica Kincaid’s, At the Bottom of the River is a piece I will forever hold in my heart.

I will not doubt myself

I stand here
I call it a defiance
some call it mulish
‘no one can call themselves a tree, trees don’t even call themselves that among themselves’
but how can we translate what we hear, if we refuse to look around and see ourselves reflected?
I am everything too
and what about that?
the true reflection of the soul is a gateway that mirrors life
I stand here
I call it defiance
in the face of the fickle tide of trends
I am nature herself
and so are you
and I stand here
until the wind upturns me
until my roots can no longer roam
until my heart can no longer reach the depths
until my soul has decided it has been a life
what’s left will be a seed
a maple seed in the wind twirling
dancing away into another time

I let the rain nourish my roots

I’ve grown again; how many should it take for it to be understood?
how many times can one come back, a little bruised, something missing here and there but still somethings remain intact, for anyone to understand what drives this little life to say, I’m here?
I let the rain fall on me, I understand the cold, I understand the indifference of passersby, after all everyone has their own little life…
I understand the heat, I understand anger, I have fallen in resentment and almost drowned in it, I floated above it, the water a mirror to show the missing lushness, and so I understood to let it go, I rose again, I stood tall again and understood, I understand
I let the rain fall, my clinging is loose, I welcome the winds, come take what I can’t hold anymore,
relieve my of this weightiness,
my living is light, my light is living…

I reach for the sky

thrown away, I say that they threw me away, and half of me ashes in a bonfire…
but I am still here, my branches grow roots! I snake them in these new grounds, I now say these grounds are sacred, as my blood has been spilled and I nourished it in my own defiance
-I stand within myself pulsing, I cannot die-
and as I feed, as I stay still, letting the breeze soothe me,
a sprout,
and new leaves come forth,
spring is coming soon,
so I reach higher, and higher…

knowing my roots will break through concrete

be beautiful in the city, try your best away from the sacred grounds,
and I oblige: I will be beautiful in the city, I will try my best away from the sacred grounds…
I am not beautiful in the city, I make the city beautiful
how can I try to grow, when there is no where to go?
my roots they crawl and find nothing but a mountain of concrete, my heart recoils and rejoins my center…
‘silly woman, silly human’
but I insist, my roots are dying, this dark is not dark, it’s a prison of someone else’s making, not a place for one to nourish the self and grow… ah but I’m just a tree, my roots take what they can and expand, breaking through, I break the concrete but they tell me I’m a nuisance and cut me down…

and I love…

who planted me? who said, and here I will bury this seed, and will water them, and will watch them grow…
but I wasn’t watered as I should have, or is this not something a tree should say? oh, right, I am a tree…
I broke through the ground and the rain came from the sky, or was the sky a face, or was the face a dried up honeycomb filtering in the water… nonetheless I grew tall, well as tall as I could manage, under that shadows of ancient trees I am but a sapling…
but the sunbeams roping themselves between the leaves, the finger’s of god reaching through to hold me in an embrace, showed me love can come in places where one feels no one will arrive into
and I love, standing here, feeling myself reach and reach, trying my best to keep reaching even as the winds they come to challenge my stance…

in knowing I’m a tree, I am happy

my roots have been upturned, and I have even broken them to satisfy the clinging of another’s
my branches have dried off, and even fallen right on my very roots
but even with the severing, I have renewed what has been lost, I have been restored to fullness, despite the ominous sounds of saws, and the scraping of knives
I stay firm, standing here and the sky offers me countless days and nights
in knowing where I stand, this tree is happy still even as the winds come to blow my leaves away, to ruffle me, to see if they can upturn me- and upturned me they have, and yet still, as I laid down I thought of how nice it is to finally feel what it’s like to fall, my trellis’ and my leaves as my pillows comforting me…
‘how silly!’ you say, ‘you silly human!’
ah, but my roots snake deeper into the earth in spite of your shaming, my clinging is loose, and life is something that unfurls from my fingertips

I am a tree

though you may not see it, and say what an absurd thing to assert, I am a tree.
these veins that spiral, these bones that frame, this blood and water that keeps me plump, this skin that stretches, and within, a heart that extends through my arms, and reaches down to root my feet into the ground…

though you may deny me, and say, how absurd, look at my seasons- I’ve known many autumns and mourned every winter for the seemingly dying parts of me that floated away like maple seeds twirling in the wind, and as I stood there, passersby not noticing my pensive gaze searching the sky, I reached within and buried myself into my roots, feeding upon the dark, finding nourishment in understanding that I can not stand for very long unless I let go what feels heavy….

though you may not see me, I see you passing by, eyes glazed over and not knowing you too need to let go what feels heavy, and lie down in the dark to understand that seasons come and seasons go…