Place of Trees

Place of Trees a tarot card poem

for Mary


I didn't believe you when you said

these trees are hollow.

"They stack the little ones inside the big ones, that's

how they get their rings."

When I disagreed you asked me if I'd ever

killed one myself, swung this axe I carry

like a trumpeteer carries his instrument, and struck

one down in a blow. I hadn't.

But you gave me flowers anyway, to remind me

we are simply mermaids ventured too far,

that neither of us know a thing about bark, leaves

broken roots rebelling against this dry earth.

I throw up my axe in thanks and it hums

as it reaches to cut the blood orange

from the sky. In this place of trees

everything casts a shadow. Some are big,

hard, full of air and sorrow and unknowing.

And some, if we let go of all we have,

are the sweetest gifts we can give.