OpenLinkNight: Where the wild trees grow

Tree by Logan

my fingers glow in the dashboard lights,
the floorboard mat striped light & dark
distinct, sun still asleep, the truck hums
lullabies & i
                   sl(yawn)ip
                              back asleep

eeeRrTHUNK

awake, the cab already cooling without heat
i blink, blink---rub my eyes, first light & fog,
my dad & men in a huddle, muffled voices,
dark trees, shades

gloves & stocking cap, i step out, squish
mud around my shoes in the road, a mere
culvert carved in the earth

'let's go' & all morning we walk in the silent
song of wood backs straightening, branches
lifting high in pride at the possibility

of earning a pink ribbon, my hands full of clay
pigeons, yellow and black, some chipped
from a hunter's practice shots---we single out 200
full bodied, nice shaped, to be culled

'which one is ours?'

'we'll see when they come. i have one in mind
but---'

they stand around in front of the trucks
& tell stories over coffee, white smoke breathe
on each other & i walk the small grass

between giants, ready to lay down their lives
to give Christmas to families, telling them stories
not just of the children that will bejewel
their arms with tinsel & light

but ones in the hospital where the money
made on their sale will mean presents &
joy in faces, arms out wide gracing
their needles with finger tips---

'brighter even than the star that will crown
your head,
because of you.'

Over at dVerse Poets, it is OpenLinkNight and poetry is flowing freely, so stop in and drop your own or just read some of the submissions...the doors open at 3 pm.

This poem was inspired by one of our poets, Patricia Wolf, whose poem this weekend got me thinking of visits to the tree farm with my dad growing up.