A Tree Has Many Scars




a tree has many scars

first— the stretch of growth, 

for trees are ambitious creatures and love to reach for the stars

then comes the occidental bruising and violence

when the axe set in to cut you down

and though inside you screamed

outside you stood and took it, 

pretending that the blade was never there in the first place

then there are the stains of the sweetened hands— 

the ones who brought you water when you were dry of thirst

ones who sat under your arms in prayer, 

and thanked your kind trunk for providing 

strength, warmth and compassion

then the scars of age

the residue of time lapped over your body in kisses

the stains from sap and fruit from your limbs 

that dripped and caressed you, 

your children of the earth 

who know how crosses are formed 

within the sanctum of the forest


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