Tree
written by: Ada Jenkins
Tree, in the playground,
you are rooted.
I am not.
You’re the bones, the cartilage.
I’m the dust motes, floating around you,
never able to settle,
even on you.
Solid presence,
unarguable photosynthesis.
Then, one day,
when my vision finally cleared,
my sanity briefly my own for ten precious minutes,
you were gone.
Chopped.
Severed.
And so was I.
Your heartwood is my own.
Raw, bright bleeding
that looks beautiful to some.
But we know better.
Ada Jenkins is a mixed-race writer who has been published across several genres, including fiction (His Dark Song, Solstice) and poetry (Punk Monk magazine). She is a professional book reviewer for various online platforms. When she's not writing, she enjoys going to coffee shops that double up as bookstores.
