Out Like a Lamb

Tree of Life

In each cleanly neat textbook depiction
all the branches are symmetry defined
& every leaf the perfect representative
called to order: Fibonacci spiral maths.

I've got one such portrayal on my wall,
its colors richly stitched in heavy fabric
with three parading elephants beneath,
trumpeting: Made in India! Free Trade!

Two partridges sit on opposite branches
in the balanced composition of plumage
and poise. Around the edges, a pattern
of stars, evenly spaced, arranges itself.

My own life tree is          messy,
         vining, entangled into nearby neighbors
of varied shapes and lengths and ages.

Some of my branches are cut
                   short
                   with puckered stumps

and some are stretched in distress, acting out appeals.

Some die infected by insect
and some die by insecticide
and some have branches off their branches
         little
                   happy
                             twigs

and some have branches off their branches
         large
                   misshapen
stubs.

Sometimes one comes crashing down
or, struck by lightning, falls away to
ash and          sometimes
one grows wonky, turning in
                   mid-air
         seeking better paths
to sun

and some die trying
never branching out at all

but some, alive & grinning, bear
delicious fruit in every season
regardless of the latitude
proper fertilization
artist rendition
or whether
(or not)
it rains.




note ▼

April 20—Tree of Life…