On Forgetting That I Am a Tree
A poem in which I am growing.
A poem in which I am a tree,
And I am both appreciated and undervalued.
A poem in which I fear I did not dig into the past,
Did not think about my roots,
Forgot what it meant to be planted.
A poem in which I realise they may try to cut
That I must change with the seasons,
That I do it so well
It looks like they are changing with me.
A poem in which I remember I have existed
That centuries are far too small a unit of
That time found itself in the forests, woods
Remember I have witnessed creation,
That I am key to it.
A poem in which some will carve their names
into my skin
In hopes the universe will know them.
Where I am so tall I kiss the sun.
Trees cannot hide,
They belong to the day and to the night,
To the past and the future.
A poem in which I stop looking for it,
Because I am home.
I am habitat.
My branches are host and shelter
I am life-giver and fruit-bearer.
A poem in which I remember I am a tree.
© Ruth Awolola from Rising Stars New Young Voices in Poetry (Otter-Barry Books)