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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4638 Registered: 11-1998 |
Poem of the Week A Letter to Peter T.E. Ballard (Treezaa) Go into the woods, Peter; find the birch that bends with first snow, see beauty before you cut her down and drag her to the room of your father’s tools. Strip her well, Peter, though her skin is soft like memory, her branches made of stone. Carve the sides to a honeyed brown till yellow dust falls; rain upon your skin. Breathe, Peter, breathe before you chip away; let her be wide, long enough for me to stretch, lay myself inside. Build me a boat, Peter, with those hands of knots and lines; let her sail. Know I’ve never been loved, not once, not at all. Yesterday, I saw the ice crawl to shore and my legs became white with need. Another side, another sea. With each step, Peter, the water moaned, clear earth shook; I saw the trees bow upside down, dark blue turned to gray. I fell, Peter; I fell for you and water turned to fire. It burned my skin, stung my eyes. I could not find a way to breathe; breathe, Peter. The boat, she never came. I pressed my self to frozen glass till the world drew flat, all the colors drained. Know I’ve never been loved, Peter, not once, not at all. |
