Poem: Ghost Tree
Ghost Tree
I am full of listening.
Brittle with more.
Weak rooted. Rotted.
Rot from the inside.
Do you hear me when I stop listening.
When it spills out.
When it spoils.
Last night in the mountains the stars dimmed.
It was clouds clouds clouds
And I was wondering if you touched my hand
would it be enough to stop the noise inside of me?
The righteous chattering
of caws and crows.
The dry thin air pumping my heart full
of nothing.
Eating dinner. Trying to find conversation.
You took me to a corner in a crowded cafeteria and ate silently.
Everything said.
Unsaid.
The life of the party. The silent wife.
She says, I feel like you want something I’m not giving you.
