My sister and I spent February
in the Colorado Rockies.
She skied mornings
before we looped scenic byways:
mountain passes, overlooks, dizzying curves
around chiseled cliffs to riveting valley vistas,
groves of close-packed aspens—stark-white
straight trunks, no branches until high up.
They share a singular root system.
The patterns of dark bark that scar
their trunks intrigued me most. One echoed
a body stretched onto a ragged cross,
others a streetlamp, tatted characters
of Mandarin script, a swollen knee
wound, a series of pokeholes
like a page of Braille.
A friend said the bark can’t keep up
with the tree’s growth,
so it cracks apart.
O, to be willing
to split ourselves open.
Love the momentum you build with your words here and the ending. And, aren’t those aspens fascinating! Thank you!
You’re welcome, Debbie!
I love this poem a lot. The turn at the end is magnificent.
The patterns of dark bark that scar…
Great poem! Love the powerful ending!
Thank you, Donelle!
Personal and powerful…
Such grand observ
Such grand observations and then that ending! Wonderful!
Thank you, Nancy!