10 | February | 2013 | Golden Star Poetry

This is an older poem of mine (and one of my favorites!)

A tree analogy

A tree analogy:

I whittled down slowly,

like whittling down myself.

I feel the peeling

bark chopping

and the soft moss embeds

and the sticky sap attends

and I feel a sharp kick to my

left ankle.

The deft “swacks!” of the ax

and I watch this chopper closely.

through the pain

I am unattached.

I notice my cries as if from afar

I find

a distance from myself,

the self I used to love.

Lifting my hands, my limbs, their limbs,

the limbs of my branches,

I stretch out like pressed linen

like a newly starched shirt

engraved with a monogrammed name

each time the monogram sticks to me

each time with the foreboding sense

of firm steadiness to identity,

though I do not know who I am.

And, so, I make a tree Analogy:

I whittled down slowly,

not knowing what to make of myself.

Golden Star Poetry