Living Deadwood

Image created by A. L. Peck

When your leaves stopped dancing and

Your branches snapped black, the first thing

The men did was prepare their yellow crane.

But I couldn’t decide what you were.

You stood there, silent, on the outskirts of the forest.

But your presence was loud, dominating.

You towered over the still backdrop of muddled green

And brown. A menace to trespassers or a guardian to

The forest. Your branches stretched to the clouds and

I thought you must see everything.

I was wary of your massive form each time I walked

Past you after school. I thought there was something

More to your blackened hollows and strange grooves,

Your tangled roots that curved and sprawled over rocks,

Invasive and unbounded. And when I looked at your

Bark, marred with carvings and initialed promises,

Records of old secrets and forbidden trysts,

I thought you must know everything.

Walking home alone late that night, I saw

Your arms blend into the darkness, and

The shadows of your gnarled fingers

Crept into the back corners of my mind.

I stumbled over your veined roots

And protruding knobs of scarred flesh, felt

The sticky, warm sap pooling around your skin.

And I knew they made an awful mistake because

I thought you must be alive.