Beneath leafy apron of an old tree,
that sifts air that raises her hem,
stirring testaments with gnarled fingers,
for one whispered prayer on her behalf.
Holding history against her sappy core,
she guards it well with staff and arrow
of gangly branches bent on belief
that earth can heal itself if allowed.
Leaves, shaking off rain’s repenting wash,
rattle at the end of polluted limbs;
a death ritual meant for fall
but now, a churlish curl of light leaves
as if each foamed at baby-mouthed
struggle for new breath in order to fulfill
an ancient calling to renew the very air,
the soiled sod, she holds as home.
His hand becomes his instrument of faith,
by works, as he clears brambles and burrs
from her bent branches that pale in her pressed ply
on acid air to keep the sky from falling.
Her reaching roots, rotting in fetid fecundity,
disturbs his ancestral bones in a last reach for rescue
beneath tangle of weedy tentacles that steal
last drop of dew that would keep her from filthy thirst.
His worship in his work is enough to meet
her measure of this being enough to send forth
one fragile nubbin that will bud and know his name
for centuries to come. Her heart hums in harmony
to the foot to spade movements that aerates new footing
for her to feel her way to unfurl yet another promise
in polluted plot where such pity and passion
has her eating of herself in order to bless him
with a shifting, so slightly back to bark would never notice,
but he is shaded from a simmering sun,
as she recalls her reason to love this man
so dearly, that she breaths brown for him.
Above trampled layers of grass,
dirt mixed and measured by downfall;
stories of sediment, a witness to visitations
of every earthly beauty and bestial burden,
a man and a flute lean against wrinkled brace
and his tune tries to ease her sickened century.
His notes, lifted by her soft intake of breath,
are taken in and set upon a rippled ring
to become a literature, a lessening of pulpy plea
for man to remember her legacy and reason for being
in debt to her dearest design by hand of God.
Author notes
inspired by deercatcher, and then his poem http://allpoetry.com/poem/2807224
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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Thank you!
http://allpoetry.com/poem/2807224
The Healing Tree-
Which I believe inspired Carol's wondrous work here... -
brilliant
A journey from beginning to end...
This is one of my favorites of yours....which is saying a lot because I have so many
I am in awe once again of the way you seem to captivate from the first line to the last...
Bravo!
Lynda
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ty, I wrote this for a friend....
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Of Course
the title left me no choice but to read, and re-read this.
An hour ago, I was writing of men, a woman, and cedar flutes. I wish I had written with the breadth, scope, and hope that I found within these challenging lines.
This ranks among those rare reads that I can revisit and glean more on each reading. WELL DONE!
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ty dear heart
and a prayer on the wind of a healing flute for you!
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You have a very interesting way of weaving your words around in each line, and how those words interact with one another was, at times, tongue-twisting, but still mentally stimulating, and more than enough to bring about some wonderful visuals in my head. The "sickened centry" was fantastic. Many thanks for entering
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ty nicole.
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