|Front of the tree|
|Back of the tree|
"I'm sorry," I cried.
Workmen focused on their job,
not on the pain they caused
chopping their way to accomplishment.
And me, never thought about you
until I saw the brokenness that remained.
I can't decide which is worse
ignorant or mindless.
"It's the way, today."
You comfort me with resignation.
Victims do that.
But you're something else -
teacher, survivor, observer,
warrior waging battle,
with creative non-violent resistance
even against the me's of good intentions.
You know destruction is tricky.
Do you know too, (I hope)
how your fight could end in
|Green is born.|
(Submitted to Dverse Poets.)
Before I moved into the little town house, I hired painters. In order to paint the front of the house, they demolished the back of the tree. I had never thought about how they would paint with such a large tree interfering with their space. When I saw what they had done, I was devastated. Luckily trees forgive. Many of the broken limbs are turning green.