Pine

by on Apr 27, 2016

I worship trees to lose myself
in hours, shaded over
with violet blooms. Sometimes

I spend a million days unwinding
in the purple, engraving myself
in a circle on the wood. Sometimes

I press my ear to hear
the whispers in the bark:

if you listen close, folklore
dews the summer air
and dizzies you with gin.

Sometimes, I throw myself over green,
green grass and feel for roots, seeking
a history the dirt swept over.

I dream that I’m a pine
rooted steady in the green,
my needled arms stretched
up to lilac sky.

How can I explain,
there is no world beyond the treetops.

 


Arielle Lipset studied creative writing at Franklin & Marshall College. She currently lives in Prague, where she teaches English as a foreign language. Her poetry was most recently published on Poets.org. Find more of her work at ariellelipset.com

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