top of page
  • Writer's pictureErrol Rubenstein

TREES

Trees are shocking to me

in their naked and undisguised irregularity.


Trunk hunkered down in the ground,

roots spread like eels, scrutinizing the soil beneath,

a knothole a woodpecker pecked

making a home for some tiny starling, titmouse or chickadee--

cavity-nesters in the heartwood,

a small rodent, a grey squirrel perhaps,

nestled with its young in its drey.


Branches splayed out in crazy

uneven patterns, first large, then smaller

as they reach and yearn heavenward

for the sky,

a promise kept to grab the sun, the clouds and pull them down.


Leaves, in spring just turning green

but in winter sparse,

spare branches, clotted bark, signposts to sidewalk

walkers counting the trunks to

measure their way home.


Published in the Red River Review 2019

View publication below!




Recent Posts

See All

WHEN THOSE IN POWER

Huddle in hallway corners To discuss false claims and accusations levelled against you; When the metal jaws clamp down And your flag of freedom hangs limp in the dead breeze And your means to sustenan

NIGHT SKY WITH IMPLICATIONS

The sun set long ago: light is gone now from the window at the back of the house. The moon shines down upon the spaces where light has gone out. Today I missed no one. Tomorrow I may mourn. Your love,

HURT

Our life, in which I have offended, inflicted damage to our pact, lies before me— shattered glass. I have whispered secrets to strangers, betrayed confidences, committed transgressions. Like blood tha

Commentaires


bottom of page