Monday, November 11, 2013

The Maple Tree

Maybe I'm just not as strong as I thought as I was. I seemed to bounce back so fast, to the point that I even made a few off-color jokes about it. I smiled. I laughed. I was energized. But beneath it all I'd feel these moments of welling terror, of panic.

What is going to happen to me? How can this be real?

I'm in disbelief that I am who I am. I hate myself a little. And a part of me wants to do it again. But damn it, I have resolved not to think that way, and I'm going to keep the promise I made when I came out of the hospital to give this life of mine the good college try.

Oh, my God. How has this really happened? How did I become this thing?

I looked out my bedroom window several days ago to see a maple tree, resplendent with autumn glory as its leaves glowed golden-red in the setting sun. This morning, seemingly out of nowhere, the tree was almost bare and suddenly ugly. I thought that it would be irredeemably sad but for the fact that it will one day come to life again. Spring can only be so many months after Fall.

The maple tree is weeping now
Its red and amber tears
It sheds its little stars of grief
They make a bed of fear

The tree has lost what made it whole
Its shining emerald hands
That time and nature one day stole
Have fallen in the stands

The wind that's whirling through its holes
Screams like a mournful wail
The branches empty, brown, and dead
Bow low as if to fail

The tree holds on with stubborn roots
And though it's hung with doom
It stands high hoping one day that
It once again might bloom


jo(e) said...

Thinking of you.

Anonymous said...

Wow, BB. I hope things will get better for you, because you deserve nothing less than the best.

The poem is darkly beautiful.

I keep wondering if a complete change of pace/place/everything would be helpful. Just ditch it all and get out there. I dunno. I just want you to be happy, and whole, and fulfilled.

You know you can lean on us out here. Physically if necessary. Just get in touch.

Peace <3

naturgesetz said...

You have the right attitude — to keep trying. I hope realizing, and accepting, that life can't be perfect — not yours, not mine, not anybody else's — will help you deal with, and in a way accept, the imperfections. We're all imperfect, and that's okay because God still loves us all.

And I want to second what Jay said in his comment on your previous post. Not reaching a goal isn't failure.


laura b. said...

The season of rebirth is coming soon. Once we pass the winter solstice the days will begin to grow longer and beauty lying dormant will be on the way back.

Nedra said...

Beautiful poem. And I'm not just saying it because Canadians have a thing for maple trees. :p But I've never seen them that way, so lonely and victimized. If I ever did, I've thankfully forgotten. The trees are not made whole by the leaves, they are made whole by the forest. They are not robbed of the leaves, they scatter them gladly and dutifully. The mother spreading the blanket over her child. I know that means something different to you, much different from me. It is done because it needs doing, love is all in the doing. We move forward in the doing, and when we are stuck we suffer. The tree doesn't die in winter, she dies when she's made into a bookshelf. Even then she is filled with books and beauty and dutiful strength and usefulness. Leaving a forest of trees growing in the richness of the leaves turned soil. It's not about being stubborn, if she were so stubborn she would snap in the wind, but she flexes and bends and does what needs doing. There is beauty and strength in the bending, not failure at all.