You and I have only one thing to do: Saw the trunk through.
Edna St. Vincent Millay, “Not So Far As The Forest”
For my daughter
Family Tree
The second summer of its dying. This year
There are less leaves, the smaller brittle limbs
A little scattering of deadfall in the brown grass.
So few elms are left now; one of many things
I had taken for granted and for ever once.
Some slow poison is rising in the sap,
Where the splintered bark has fallen away
The bare wood grown soft; there must be
A hollow now where the heartwood was.
And I know something of that, and you,
Looking up to where the trunk branches
And I see you now who I never saw then,
Perched on the periphery of my life
As those you watched were on yours;
Falling and fallen into our separate lives.
Thinking of firewood I brought my axe,
But I cannot bring myself to lift it.
With each log in the hearth I would hear
Its echoes, the long season of longing
That once lifted you into the leaves.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2011-08-26 at 17:38
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jenks |
Rob Graber |
Rob Graber |