I hugged the tree in my garden
yesterday
as it spread its arms out
into that empty space that summer weaves
out of vapor and linden fragrance.
I hugged my tree
yesterday
held it tight
bark against cheek
and whispered my goodbyes.
It felt rooted and rough
I entered its shy shade like one
enters a cave waiting for
God to speak Her prophecy of healing
I entered its shy shade like one
enters a womb
for the last time,
hoping to be reborn or better yet
change regnum.
I ran my palms up and down
the coarse, firm body
of that shade
I whispered to it of my comings and goings, of which
this was my last,
gutted I mumbled
my apologies and my sorrows, I pressed
my irregular heartbeat
against the tree’s grey muteness
until the leaves up in its canopy
began to flutter, rustling
as if hungry for flight
and the breeze
turned the soft womb
below them
into a stroboscope, a
blinding.
I hugged the trunk of that
tree thinking:
support me, absorb me, come with me wherever,
trees are the staunchest of friends,
the safest of allies
you always know just where to find them
trees are nothing but the
enwoodended desire for sky,
green pillars of quiet turned into
blazing bonfires by fear and hope.
I hugged a tree
yesterday,
held it tight,
bark against cheek,
as befits any last encounter,
it felt rooted and rough
and I held on for dear life,
for the time it takes to
caress, stroke, murmur:
‘I too have always been here,
unseen,
rooted, unable to leave, just
spreading my arms and burning
for a hug.’
may you live longer than I and become
the living memory
of my passing.
Writer Between Worlds 