Tag Archives: tree

dogwood

from elaney.com

Mother’s Day is Sunday, and I will call mine on that day. I doubt she’ll call me, there’s church and mourning to deal with. I actually understand in this instance.

Not so much the rest of the time. I wish she cared, or grew some balls, or whatever it is that makes her hide in her hole down there. It’s not just grandma’s death. It’s the way they all are. Well, they can’t see me, my time is now.

Wrestling references are so fun.

This is going to be the last attempt at steady blogging for me. I have hope this time, as long as I open the to do list staring me in the face. I’ll do writing posts over on the house of harnoeth blog, link coming to a sidebar near you soon. For this green blog of mine, I will try to document my continuing efforts to work my way out of depression and sloth.

Maybe it will be helpful to someone. Maybe even me.

I also like the idea of posting whatever, I’m letting too many thoughts pile up these days, putting off what I should do because I’m scared, like always. Fear is the mindkiller, but it is hard to let go. One of the things I loved about Water for Elephants was the theme of overcoming and being overcome by fear. I have to keep nursing my confidence enough to be able to handle failing.

Posting my thoughts on the internets, whether they are ever read, is one way of nursing confidence, believing they are worth posting, filling this digital space. And since it’s gotten all philosophical and full of wax, as my writerly friend Cupidon might say, I feel it’s time for a poem. I’ve written many about motherly relationships, but my current favorite is the most recent, I achieved a certain level of detachment that can be very hard for me.

Poetry is such a personal thing.

“Dogwood”

There’s a shadow
on the wall
across the alley
between two stores
shorter than
the real tree
in front
because the sun
plays with us all.

The shadow is a
dogwood, official
endangered,
revered. Like
you, registered,
firmly, contritely
proclaimed dead-
another victim
of pollution’s disease.

You wore white
when you made
mother feel alone.
A stepfather, unwanted
a house but no home.
You wore cream
when you helped
veterans recover
from petty wars
and shipyard accidents.

You are dogwood
in shadow or reality
the trickle down
reflection of
human choices
our free will
a backhanded gift
from the god you so loved.


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