I.
Tonight I’m convinced
anyone could hold me.
There is always some truth
in the matter.
What, then,
is the matter?
Let the hollow tree fall
onto the sassafras,
one leaf
for each child
we never had.
Go ahead—
smash it.
In fact,
get a baseball bat.
The trunk is already falling
There is no time to hold on.
The box screamed fragile
and even wind catching leaves
sounded loud.
Tonight,
weather wins.
II.
You packed saplings away
for a later day
Let’s be fair, you said.
You’re irrational, you said.
I heard
fair is safe.
I heard
an irritating rash.
The truth is—
who needs it?
My fingertips
burned to dust,
my branches used for
kindling
Turn the light on,
let us count the dead.
This Wild Mind 