The Tree

Who amongst us does not have a recollection of yelling, "Hey, Mom, look at me!"? This seemingly universal need for attention and approval by the person who is most important in our lives (and the degree to which this need gets filled) plays a key role in the formation of the person we turn out to be as adults. Though she is no longer here to answer my call, the following poem brought back some happy memories for me. I hope it does the same for you. Have a great weekend!

 

 

Memory believes before knowing remembers.

–         William Faulkner, Light in August

 

Grassy earth bulges above.

Branches stretch away,

twig and fade in leaves.

 

dim with the other side

of light lapping underneath,

then all forever to fall.

 

He tastes the salt,

feels the heat sliding

up his back, gritty

 

bark runging curled knees.

The sun, unseen, throbs

at the center of things.

 

Face flushed with gravity

of blood, he senses again

in voices ringing up-

 

side down, outside in,

the presence like a breathing

closer than his own.

 

Shade tightens in a dome.

He scrunches

to that first curious pose

 

then flings himself swinging

like a bell’s pounding tongue

and calls out to the only

 

one he cares to show –

“Hey, Mo-o-o-o-om!”

Through the dark glint

 

of  her glasses she smiles,

then shouts from sunlight,

“I see you, I see you!”

 

Then the child’s spine shivers

in wonder, terror,  joy,

as though separate threads

 

silver, gold, black –

the void from self to soul –

were now woven into one.

 

John Savoie