
New Mother Poem
If I were an ash tree, my lungs would hollow with insect bore holes. Heavy as compost, decay would journey from my crown to my roots clutched cold in this ephemeral spring. And you, my child ash, render green from your shoots. Your roots speak from my seed. How wet and hungry you are in the ripe mud, the day shine. How tall will you grow before the insects hear the hum of your sweet pith and burrow through your heartwood.
1 reply on “New Mother Poem”
Interesting metaphors. Contrasting images of decay and new life are poignant.