something to hold on to--
an anchor to cling to--
a safe place to regain peace--
I'd like to choose a star
as Frost advises,
but I find them, first of all,
too far away.
I'd rather something to look at,
feel, hold, or touch--
you can't always see the stars--
undoubtedly human frailty
on my part.
I sought advice and was told
to speak to trees.
Out loud.
Okay.
I've done worse.
I found three trees,
planted in a triangle.
I stood in the middle
and spoke my heart.
They said I was the first person
to speak to them.
They took my tale and carried it home.
They are black locust I fund,
the bark of which is used
herbally as a cathartic;
metaphorically--letting go.
The city has decided
to down these trees
to make the street wider.
Maybe a star . . .
(c)Patricia Adler 2009
published in The Poet's Domain, vol 25
Live Wire Press, Charlottesville, VA
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