bloody sacrifices

awake,
in wicked pain,
my brain feeling
as it it were bleeding
and the world was
nothing but broken glass,
the grand tree, once shadow-maker,
now postured in pain, storm-stricken,
shards of branch bone littering the yard,
lit by lightning and rumbled by thunder,
one sharp osteo-tree limb driven
through the ground like a stake,
the tree in response, heaving open,
suffering a giant gut wound,
belly spread wide, a space,
running the full length,
from root floor to sky ceiling,
sap glistening like honey tears,
pink exposed flesh, the smell of death,
burning my nose as i moved to investigate,
nightgown trailing, feet on baby-step,
counting my own rings,
feeling the life drain out of me
into the wet grass, another storm pending.

 

*fragment/collage art by anne cunningham 06/26/04

--which came first, the chicken or the egg ... or in this case, which came first, the words or the pictures ?!?!?!  hard to tell at this point, but i do know the title came at the very last.