The elm in winter.

This was my first workshop poem! Aka the class is gonna rip it to shreds on wednesday when they critique it. Good times. Wish me luck!

____________________________________________

The Elm in Winter

My feet trudge through a trench of snow, like boulders.

Hanging like a wilted flower from its stem,

my head is fixed on the frozen earth.

My spirit is hollow, as the dry log of the ancient elm that stands,

crooked and coiled, before me.

Twigs drip tears of mournful snow from brittle branches,

longing for green,

shaking and cracking from a frigid gust of winter wind.

I crumple like a lifeless leaf,

aimlessly to the unforgiving ground.

I align my tired spine with yours,

two weary companions, we lean.

But as I sink into your rugged core,

a pulse of my heart, or yours,

a lurch of life, a jolt of energy,

radiates an awakening of warmth between our trunks.

At once, I feel your limbs around me in an embrace,

the touch of your sandpaper bark like a kiss against my skin.

Far beneath your wooded armor,

your xylem and phloem slowly squeeze vital sap,

your life blood,

from your roots in the dirt to your branches,

your outstretched arms,

dancing against winter’s sky.

Your spirit thrives, rooted within your skeleton.

I feel it consume your veins like a quiet flame,

as the breeze flows through your fingers to my lungs,

breathing the small hope of life into my soul,

resisting the ease of death.