Tuesday, January 31, 2017
The Pregnant Tree
belly bloated, bark stretched across a hallow womb.
she still stands, through the decades,
refusing to bend to the ground
rooted to dirt by a spine of rotted wood.
Does she feel the hallow, wide open hole?
Does she know she is empty, a pitiful tree
by a road no one drives and no one will cut down
since she matters nothing?
Does she feel the sorrow of her existence?
Does she choose to live out of ignorance
or of womanly determination?
I don't normally share poems until I've performed a full autopsy on them but today you get a sneak peak - a raw poem, one too prosaic for me to love, fresh out of the box, with too many adjectives, one I'll hate in a few hours for its mawkishness and didacticism. But I'm feeling mawkish and didactic today. You're welcome.
Posted by Lori Arnold at 4:34 PM
Labels: depression, poetry
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I have always loved this tree. I mean what did it go through at such a young and tender age to "disfigure" it, some may say. I think its beautiful and mind boggling to look at.ReplyDelete
I never saw your comment earlier. I love how many of us have known and felt something for this tree!ReplyDelete
I needed to thank you for this awesome read!! I certainly getting a charge out of each and every piece of it I have you bookmarked to look at new stuff you post. BonsaiTreeGardenerReplyDelete