The Secret Conversations of Trees
The Secret Conversations of Trees
Time passes in silence as
One tree whispers to another
Where is childhood?
Where is childhood?
The gnarled tree on the edge of the wooded cluster clears his throat
Its old wooded limbs and ruggedly thick trunk shudders in fatigue
It’s lost, poor thing!
Trapped in thickets of pop culture and plastic surgery advertisements
She won’t even look for it!
She is too busy trying on post-it stub bikinis
And drinking beer,
Shaken not stirred please!
Hard liquor and speed pills hidden at the bottom of the wooden trunk
Sharing space with her grandmothers copy of Robert Frost
She draws thick lines of clumping mascara masking her inner beauty
The sexy siren of twelve
Trying to fit the stiff mold of objectification
The Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s vanish in the face of MTV and the micro-minni
The trees lament their loneliness lost on an empty road
Their branches caress one another in their gentle gallantry
Straining for the melody of her voice
Wishing for childhood to return once again
Pleading with blind eyes in a motherly fashion
Childhood sinks in sticky mud
The rancid stink of the swamp; diet shakes and hairspray gags off what little air is left
Her throat constricts painfully
The salty tears of bitter truth make snake pattern train tracks down the caked foundation on her face
She is tempted to look to the trees for guidance
Feel their leaves embrace her in their green folds
But she stifles the feeling with a jackhammer of iron will
She brushes away the tears and turns on the TV
The numbing proceeds
Embedding the spewed images of mutilated nudity into the clockwork of her mind,
And as childhood dies in slow gasping breathes for air
The memory of trees slowly ebbs away.
Time passes in silence as
One tree whispers to another
Where is childhood?
Where is childhood?
The gnarled tree on the edge of the wooded cluster clears his throat
Its old wooded limbs and ruggedly thick trunk shudders in fatigue
It’s lost, poor thing!
Trapped in thickets of pop culture and plastic surgery advertisements
She won’t even look for it!
She is too busy trying on post-it stub bikinis
And drinking beer,
Shaken not stirred please!
Hard liquor and speed pills hidden at the bottom of the wooden trunk
Sharing space with her grandmothers copy of Robert Frost
She draws thick lines of clumping mascara masking her inner beauty
The sexy siren of twelve
Trying to fit the stiff mold of objectification
The Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s vanish in the face of MTV and the micro-minni
The trees lament their loneliness lost on an empty road
Their branches caress one another in their gentle gallantry
Straining for the melody of her voice
Wishing for childhood to return once again
Pleading with blind eyes in a motherly fashion
Childhood sinks in sticky mud
The rancid stink of the swamp; diet shakes and hairspray gags off what little air is left
Her throat constricts painfully
The salty tears of bitter truth make snake pattern train tracks down the caked foundation on her face
She is tempted to look to the trees for guidance
Feel their leaves embrace her in their green folds
But she stifles the feeling with a jackhammer of iron will
She brushes away the tears and turns on the TV
The numbing proceeds
Embedding the spewed images of mutilated nudity into the clockwork of her mind,
And as childhood dies in slow gasping breathes for air
The memory of trees slowly ebbs away.