The Tree

She looked at me.  Looked hard.

"Dude...it's just a tree."

I looked at the tree. Looked hard.

It was, indeed, just a tree.

A dying tree 

Whose naked limbs reached to the sky

As though pleading for mercy

The insects had won

It's bark, like flesh

Burrowed through

Falling to the ground in shredded rains

As though preparing the ground at its trunk

An ironic burial blanket

The worms had won

Devouring, 

Impatient

In a world that is just and fair

We are allowed to return to ground

Before they claim dominion

"It's just a tree!"

Her voice had grown impatient 

Like the appetite

Of the beasts that consumed.

I wondered

If like the trees

They had found purchase within her

Eating away

Swallowing imagination

Washing it down

With the joy that made life worth living.

Leaving her merely existing

Content to see a tree

As just a tree.

Natasha Head