Poetry

Memories

By 13th April 2010December 9th, 2019No Comments

Jew’s Ear Fungi camp in the brittle bark of ‘Once a Tree’; his body is broken, separated, chopped and sawn until only his feet remain surrounded by remnant branches.

A crocus pokes her green bonnet above the Earth’s hem and waits for the first rays of early morning sun; she sits between his old, grey ankles, safe from the blustery chill wind.

Beetles proliferate between the woody skeleton and brittle bark; little black-clad civil servants, each one anonymous, each one purposeful, yet each – seemingly – unaware of his fellows.

Ants have a toehold in his feet; nested one within the other; each a little world occupying a little space in their corporate reality.

‘Once a Tree’ remains still among the breeze-blown remnants of himself and his fellows, all gathered together to ‘dine in’ another Master, while the old one walks no more and memory is but brittle bark.

Chris Green

Author Chris Green

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