BODY Image Poem: MY TREE TRUNK, by CLS Sandoval

When the boy sits on the tree’s stump at the end of the Giving Tree, I used to think it was sad
because they had both lived their lives and been used up. Then, I grew into a woman and
became a mother. I have despised my trunk, abused my trunk, expected it to stay 16 or 20. But,
just as the trunk of real trees grow stronger and more sturdy as they add rings, so I expanded with
age, strength, and wisdom. I have become a waif no more. I am willing to give my daughter
anything she needs; my apples, my leaves, my branches, even my trunk. But now, as I read Shel
Silverstein’s story to her, and watch the boy haul off what is left of the tree’s body, I pray my
daughter would never demand that I be reduced to a stump, just so that she might sail away.