NATURE Poem: Sitting on a Pretty Bench, by Michael Pitre

It seems like this tree has been here forever, with its expansive roots and wrinkled limbs.
But really, it was a sapling yesterday.

One branch is hard to miss.
I imagine one day it pointed to the stars,
but as it grew a strong gust came and twisted the branch.
From then on it grew downwards,
unbeknownst to the rest of the tree.
Had the trunk understood what tragedy struck, it surely wouldn’t have poured its energy and
nutrients into such a distortion.

Down the branch grew, away from the stars and the sunlight, until it rooted itself straight into the
ground.
Of course, now the trunk must have felt the pain.
The novelty and the permanence of it couldn’t be ignored –
right?
Yet still the branch grew, down and out with beautiful, viral speed.

As I look closer, more cracks and dents in the wood are becoming clear. I wish I could ask the
tree which one hurt the most.
I think this tree will die soon. And what a shame it will be, this tree,
that once looked to the sky.

Author: poetryfest

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