Part of the prompts for today’s OctPoWriMo I chose to follow are, “If I Were Me” and a shape poem. It probably won’t show up as a tree on small screens!
An oak tree takes hundreds, if not thousands,
of years to grow from an acorn and into a mature tree.
Nobody questions it. Who says that the way of a human can’t follow the path
of an oak tree? One might say that the laws of nature will not accommodate fauna
following the ways of flora. Another, why not. Are we really so different from each
other? We are both living creatures sprung forth from the womb of Mother Gaia.
The fungi that acts as Gaia’s capillaries breaks us both down
when our time of life with her changes form.
If I were me, I’d want to be an oak tree.
Hundreds of years to get it right would
be perfectly ok. I’d be part of nature.
My nature would be to stand tall.
None would question my rough bark,
misshapen bumps, and scars. I’d be deep,
rooted in place; none would push me away.
I’d be wide, with critters in my boughs; cicadas
would sing from me. My lush hair would be dynamic,
always in seasonal fashion. It would catch each morning’s sun.
Rain would shower my leaves, then trickle down my body, to pool at my feet.
I would live with my ancient kin, knowing them so well no need to speak.
Our long feet would touch and play footsie with the fungi. Our acorns would stay
and we would watch them grow. They would also take their time. Our forest of many
generations, in gestalt within all seasons, by Gaia’s hand.