and her 99 trees

This is the fifth and final poem in this series. Please start with the Introduction here, it gives important context and a content warning.

It’s the strangest thing, despite my trepidation about making these public, I feel lighter to have arrived at the last of them. For now, at least. There is always the chance that I will find myself revisiting this again someday. It’s the tidal nature of grief to return from time to time.

and her 99 trees                                              September 7, 2017
this letter i write on for weeks
half theological treatise
half confession and atonement

i should be less anxious
how it will be received
and think more
about the trees
being immortalized as copy paper
99 and more
pages of a mother’s sobs

and growing daily thicker
my hands weaving words into pleas
because how can i finish
sewing clothes for a baby
who will never breathe?

this old poem
where i write because you kill me
and she writes
because she doesn’t kill herself
and now this letter
i write because another she is dead

these stories are never so short
as the women who write
baby clothes sewn into poetry
there’s always a prequel
all the way back to eve
and her 99 trees

About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. I'm kinda-sorta busy being a student again; this time I signed myself up for a bizarre torture known as Graduate School. Theoretically in 4ish years I'll have earned some more nice letters to put with my name. Let's face it, I'm addicted to learning and probably need rehab to restore me to sanity and remove the obsession to read books. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
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1 Response to and her 99 trees

  1. Pingback: Everywhere but Here and an Introduction by way of Explanation | the liminal life of m

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