Tree Talking

What is it like
to be a pine
planted by God or mother earth
in southern clay?

 

Bursting forth from germinated seed 

Growing year,

After year…

After year, tall into the sky

 

Losing friends, sisters, brothers

Land cleared and farms tilled

The barn with its cow and chickens

The house, its husband, wife and 3 kids

 

And still, to stand and welcome 

squirrels, hawks, and bark-prickling ants,

To hold the morning and evening sun,

the angry atmosphere's gusts.

 

Then one day

The saw, the ax, the crane

A tribe of men attacking

What would rather not attack back

 

No longer breaking the soil in root

holding the Wisteria,

giving the redhead food

or a backyard shade

 

Instead, with precision cuts,

The rings of time exposed

And it is felled

Never to rise again.