blog,  poetry

Poem: I am the Result of Thousands of Years in the Making.

A deep part of me aches.

It’s not the pulse of my boredom that craves entertainment, nor the idleness of my hands.

But something deeper, something older than me.

It’s the part of me that knows I am a creature, not one cursed to forever crawl or slither on the ground.

But I am a creature, a creature of the earth.

I am born of dirt and earth and air. I am bred of water and wind and fire.

I am a product of the humans before me. I am the result of thousands of years in the making.

And I walk the earth beneath the world’s canopy of trees, our oldest living ancestors.

Our oldest home.

Today, I took a walk with my husband. He always holds my hand on the right side of his body, not the left.

So it was over his shoulder I observed the ten stumps lining our path.

“The Giving Tree,” I thought to myself.

It’s the story of a tree who gave all she had to a little boy, down to her last gift; a stump to sit on in old age.

Ten stumps all in a row.

They say the hurricane took 90% of our canopy.

I remember seeing so many of my friends laying dead on the ground beneath an orange, unnatural sky.

The scent of pine their last gift to us all.

And so, my soul aches.

It’s primal. It’s the most natural thing in the world.

Trees give us shelter when we cut them down. They give us shade in the heat. They store up water to make the leaves that give food to the animals we eat.

They are literally the source of the air we breathe.

And so, my soul aches. It aches because I long for the trees.

I miss them like water misses the autumn leaves. I miss them like the sun misses the grass when it rains. I miss them like fire misses air and kindling to burn.

We wonder why we all still feel this sadness. We ponder where the grief is still coming from.

We are creatures, after all.

Creatures of the earth.

And we miss our oldest home. 

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