Poetry Nook

The Tree
Here I am
Arms outstretched
One one foot firmly planted
Roots pulling me into the ground.

My hands are clouds
Flying in the breeze
Brushing tail feathers and leaves.

My trunk begins to tremble.
Joy rushes through my sap.
My eyes find their way up
The sky that lays beyond this ceiling becomes visible.

I am almost flying.
If it weren�t for that one rooted foot.
My trunk continues to tremble
Like a chick before its first flight.

My happiness usurps me.
�Don�t dance.� I whisper
Not to contain my spirit
As if I could.
Oh no.
It is already soaring in tune with vibrant colors to match.

It is my body I seek to hold still
With my giggling whisper.
And only then
To keep it from falling.

Explosion
I am terrified.

Suddenly
A bullet in my back.
Purple rising in my stomach.

Death creeping in the shadows.
Behind the fridge.
My mother.
Dishes clinking
Entering the dishwasher
To be reborn
Fresh.

I am panicking.
Its not painful
A slight backache.
But emotionally
I�m dying.
Mom
I�m dying.

Its behind the couch.
Creeping into the house from every direction.
Death in every corner.

And I�m looking at my stomach.
The bullet is lodged right there.
I can see it
And I am going to die.

Mom.
I�m going to die!
Its here,
God!
Its almost in the light.

Stop putting the dishes away
I�m dying!
There�s a bullet in my stomach
A purple spot is rising.

And I�m not crying,
It doesn�t hurt.
Not physically.

The death is creeping up.
Its behind me and I can�t turn around.
I�m dying.
I�m dying.

Mom.
I�m dying.
There�s a bullet inside of me.
Mom.
Can�t you see it?
There�s a bullet in me.
It�s right there.
I�m scared mom
I�m dying.

And you�re talking.
I can�t here it
Its right here in the room with us mom!

I�m dying.
I�m dying�
Oh dear god.
I�m standing in an airport.
What is going on?
I�m stepping on a plane.
I�m dying.
There�s a bullet.
Its right there.

Where are you?
Mom?

There�s a bullet�
Can�t you notice?

Where am I?
I don�t know this place.
I�m crying and I�m scared.
Mom.
My back hurts.
There�s a bullet in it.
Mom�

Wake up.
Wake.
Up.

School Day
A drop of blue
Falling suspended
Infinitely.

The second hand twitches
The whisper of a dream
Yearning to tick.

Dry leaves on a marble floor
The husk of harvest
The memory of fall.