Saturday, June 30, 2012

Counting up the rings of life.

When you die
they'll talk about you as though you were a tree
a solid mass
forever growing and dying
and shedding
and blooming
with tomorrows.

They'll say you didn't look old 
signs that were there all along
collar chokes
tempests of famine and drought
etched in your DNA
visible only when cut down.

They'll remember the time you showed them how to plug that contraption that gave them trouble, how you rent a truck and moved them across town, how you fixed them BBQ when they were hungry, how they took themselves in and out of your backdoor when they needed shelter. You remained as young as they were, forever school mates looking for the next adventure.

All our hopeful acts are etched in our growing wood
and these they will count up when you go.


  1. True. Beautiful throughout, but especially the final two lines.