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One Tall Survivor
And there I stood, left in the chopped forest,
holding your last bold leaf to my breast,
rooted in a victim's graveyard.
You showed me the axe marks as you toppled
towards tomorrow's saw mill,
leaving me with no shade, seething.
As you fell, your arms clung round me, tangled branches
full of flaming leaves of Autumn celebration.
We rubbed chapped lips of bark.
My kisses sanded you down to a wooden, bare beam
that they roped to their backs and marched
across the anthills to posterity.
And I stood with my bark peeling back,
branches bent and dangling, rooted
to this place were we all once
stood.
-Betina Hershey, 9/2000