The Sight of the Trees

What sight of the trees makes
me dream? The bare bones of winter:
their coppice leaves are dead and buried;
shoelaces thick with the grime and the
spittle of mulchen earth. Molten. Catching
strands of my hair in a belittling tug.
Twin white gloves stuck to the tips of
branches, where do you hail? I can but
whisper through now berry-reddened teeth.
You’ve made me more than oxblood,
more than the water – the sweat and the
sweetness. Trees of beauty, my comrades;
what hearts are stolen into pine-cones,
into bracken? The ferns are your fingers now
and they waft at my ankles, the cuffs of my jeans;
the blue, blue, blue of my exposed feet.

Β© Eve Redwater 2012


38 thoughts on “The Sight of the Trees

  1. this is lovely…enchanting pace and rhythm to it…i love the trees personally and go there to be found again….really like that closing line as well…the repitition is spot on….

  2. As of yet, I am not qualified to comment on your beautiful work…I have much trouble understanding real poetry, and yours is.
    But I will share with you what I thought the poems speaks of, though I could be wrong.
    I see you in the woods, barefoot in the cool months, when the trees have gone bare of their leaves, and the branches are getting caught in your hair. Everything after that, I lost, even though I read it 3 times…But, I feel a strong emotions int the words you wrote,
    I’m sorry if I didn’t get it, but I know it has to be beautiful, for all your write is beautiful and professional.
    Hugs, xx

    • Hi Debra! Thank you for reading.

      You’re right you know, the bare feet, the hair, you really are getting everything, so don’t worry so much! Like I’ve said before, I really appreciate your thoughts, no matter how much or little you think you understand a certain piece. The important question for me is: β€œam I putting out a strong enough message so that you can ‘see’ what I’m trying to describe?” Honestly, it makes me so happy that you got those points out of this poem, it means I must be doing something right. πŸ™‚ x

  3. As you know, I don’t understand real poetry, which is what you write, but I get a feeling from it, as I pick up a word here and there.
    I vision you in the woods, barefoot, in the cooler months, with the tree branches getting tangled in your hair. But then I loose the ability to see more after that, but get a feeling of appreciated life…
    Hugs, xx

  4. I feel like I am closer to a tree than I realised. My arms are suddenly branches and I could cut myself open and count the rings to know the truth of my age. I like seeing things differently. Thank you for the opportunity to be a tree.

  5. I read this as more of a political metaphor, but maybe that’s completely different from what you meant. Either way, it’s a great work!

    • Hello Taylor! Thank you for reading and commenting! Not a political metaphor, but interesting how it made you think of that – it’s certainly a different spin on it!

      Stop by any time!

  6. I connect with this. Sometimes we create work unknowingly, but reading this over and over, makes me think why I make images of trees in wintery light. FYI.

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