The Arborist

My arm clutches my hollow tree,

One bare branch only offers absence,

My ear does not rest on her blue-gray timber this time,

Though crackling I hear,

From her rotting roots.

Bark separates from her trunk,

And exposes the brooding space between us,

So pale, so numb, so drenched in death.

Winter’s display of decay.

My arm drags down to her hip,

Eyes loosely placed on her chipping bark,

Through the chilled, stinging breeze

Her mournful leaves

Somberly whisper into my shoulder

“Don’t look at me with those blue eyes,

They make me so sad.”

I agree.

My feet secede from my tree,

She belongs to the earth,

For me to bloom,

I release the tree.

On the Turnpike...

On the turnpike, I am lost.

Looking for a sign, anything to signal I follow the correct path.

Is that a road I have crossed?

Is this where I began?

Looking for a sign, anything that signals I follow the correct path.

Like a siren at the scene of a crime, the voice in my brain screams.

This is where I began:

with an insatiable desire to live out every one of my dreams.

Like a siren at the scene of a crime, the voice in my brain screams

To never give up the wish I am pursuing,

this insatiable desire to live out all my dreams

will surely be my undoing.

On the turnpike, I am lost.

A green metal sign advertises a diverging exit.

Is that a road I have crossed,

Or has a new adventure begun?

Breakup With Religion

Hanging down, a low starry sky,

and a moon dripping in silver sways.

A gentle shadow speaks back to me,

connecting without words but through silence,

a feeling of comfort that speaks volumes—

Tonight, I speak to you, just us and our misconnections.

Maybe I belong.

Maybe I don’t.

My faith in you descends

just as quickly as the moon leaves me.

Is it faith that stole my piece of mind?

“God will guide you,” they tell me

but is it wrong to feel mistreated, misguided?

We used to talk for hours, but now I ignore your calls.

Sitting, a familiar fluorescent light greets my face,

talking to the moon, searching for answers to lost questions.

If I were to scream Amen,

would I then be a better woman?