the earth slam

The days when you were here,
the faucet was on
and I was beneath it—cleansed, my leaves were refreshed and my roots went on a quest to re-explore the soil.
The days when you were here, it was spring, and I was growing.
The days have changed.
The leaves retreated
I curl and shudder; winter is coming.
The flowers have fallen; beauty has failed me.
I sigh, my head bows,
there’s no use in fighting the winter that’s coming.
I’ve been through a winter.
God sent snow and it buried me
He sent wind and it froze me
And it lasted and lasted, oh God, how it lasted!
“It’s lovely!” The tourists cried. I shuddered under their feet, and died.

spider tree

Spider Tree

In front of orange lamp, in front of night

All is wet and dangerous

Like stumbling into a coven, as the Virgin Mary

Spider Tree

Yellow rain lurches down

The sky is arguing with the shadow behind the lamp; which is emptier?

The Sidhe ride, and Mary prays.

Spider Tree

Forges an alliance with lucid, limpid leaves

They hang and pant and teeter,

Tenuous tribes, hermetic heathens, all of them.

Mary is wiping the tree roots with her hair

Spider Tree

‘s black base outshines orange lamp; it is intricate

and perplexing, (a Turkish rug, or a magic carpet)

the dead retreat, when

Jesus comes to tuck Mary into bed

The rain goes on, and Jesus listens

Spider Tree is singing.