Page 20 - WTPO Vol. VII #5

A Self-Portrait as a Tree
A tree Still, tall
without tongue or red eyes
Not the bag-wormed catalpa
that flanked our walk
or wild cherry with its wine-stain power my mother’s bane
Not pine blue spruce viburnum
whose stations in the yard
I still remember I’m maple
To new singularity I bark-bind millions millions of splinters
fold and fold, enfold my leaves
for shadowplay in sunlight
night-waving to that old pearl button in the sky
My arms have multiplied to branches like exhaust pipes venting green fumes becoming friendly in the air Legs root and push from simple loam to up-crack the city’s concrete
I ignore the proliferation of dark nests little lives rising up in wingspread over glass-sided buildings, alighting on earth for a small squawking
and the old dirt taste of worms or insect-flutter down the throat
Lightning will not snap, not a leaf will fall when the wind comes thrashing
Without a flicker of thought I rest
in region of sprig and bough
today, every day . . . growing circles of greater and greater calm Maple-safe, in the face of mayhem
I have a hardwood peace
S
if m the by s in a
It d the all a as y all t hea It d fro whi to b
All l
the by astr to s
And if th nig if, a bac you a pa risi all a
13
Jacquelyn Shah
o
t
n
o t
h v o
m
i
l w
e
h s k
n