Member-only story
Beneath the Tree
In praise of the Goddess who lives inside of every woman
This is a piece of paper,
it used to be a tree,
birds lived in its branches.
In the winter it stood naked
just like you and me.
If I had known you then before we both had lives,
I would have kissed you more than once
beneath its cool September shade.
I would have read you poetry,
the songs of saints who longed for God
and nights when darkness was the sword
they carried by their side.
Small deer would come and stare at you,
wondering in their strange and silent way
how you became so much like them,
living in the city as you did.
You’d turn to me and smile,
half here and somewhere else,
heart about to open
like the mouth of one whose mother’s breast was near.
I’d suckle you, but don’t know how,
wipe the sadness from your brow,
and just when you were thinking it was time to go,
take your hand and hold it,
proof that…
