When the Trees Spoke
So the trees spoke, finally, under the weight of wet snow.
The townsfolk had waited forever. They wanted to know
Everything: How the oak could grow so early, so late,
Though smoked and shivered under waves of great
Weather. How the chokeberry bush evaded its fate
And breathed, both petal and stem unbroke.
What kept the dogwood off the lightning stroke
And kept the wavering willow immaculate?
The trees sighed, a condescension. How to evoke
For these yokels the specific, sickening freight
Of nature? Creak. Crack. Croak. Our branches hate
The cold you fancy a long white cloak…
The joy our limbs are given to know
Is to give out, under the weight of snow,
And fall to a ground without climate.
January 31st, 2011 at 4:35PM
I was amused by the trees’ condescension; at first I misread it as condensation, which given the subject matter seemed odd, but appropriate.
I’m curious, though; the rhyming scheme hints at a possible attempt at a more formal structure, but the lack of meter (at least to my ears) suggests the opposite. Was there a prior attempt at a more restricted format?
January 31st, 2011 at 5:32PM
Yes – I started with an attempt at a more formal structure; then it occurred to me that if the poem itself, as it moved forward, got gradually a bit more raggedy, that in itself might be a nice evocation of its theme.