If I were a Tree
by Kathy Kubik
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Recent poems by Kathy Kubik
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You might think being a tree is limiting,
But it all depends on where you want to go.
I sit high, skirt bunched around knees,
a handful of menís shadows flickering like rhinestones
on the ground below.
Digested, whole, clean
I am a descendent of the Redwoods,
there are no transients here.
Meditate to the constant hum that becomes one clear voice,
holds the forest together as one, emanating.
I curve my bones to wrap around this tree,
snake along niches and bumps, not minding the splinters.
Feel what you do.
I am full,
The kind of full that fills you like cement in potholes,
an empty cup thatís been poured over.
Resilient against the wind,
I donít care about that curve in my spine
or my stout prosthetic trunk.
In the tree world, different is good.
I stand tall, let arms curve to branches,
leaves sprout free.
You see me in the leaves, the bark, the branches,
The sun shines down,
I look up.
Rain showers and I am still,
comfort the sad breeze.
My leaves rattle like layers of cellophane
over rummaged plastic tableware
Centered, I share space with the sky, the shade,
point of land. Scrounge for my share of the sunlight,
stealing from the prudish bushes below.
I commune with the forest.
Discover that the voice,
was my own.
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|Reviewed by Portia Burton
|This is beautiful!
|Reviewed by Joyce Hale
|A poet's joy and strength is in being able to place themselves within anything, and see out as though we were it. Wonderful write, Kathy! Peace. Joyce|
|Reviewed by Birgit and Roger Pratcher
|Never imagined that being a tree could be so rewarding, well done,
Birgit and Roger
|Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
|Well, hell, I do declare, Clare, watch out for that old oafish oak, he's not to be trusted, he pinches your knobby parts. Be careful, now . . .|
|Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner
You were the tree. I believe that. You capture the majestic height and comfort trees bring. Love your imagery and verse!
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.