by R.L.B. Brackett
I was cut down,
Severed
Sawn
Shattered —
Drifting
Aimlessly
Driven
Pressed down beneath the torrent
Thrown up to the surface
Torn asunder
Wrecked in the violence
Of currents and
Saturated in saline nightmares.
Or was it all an adventure,
One that was misconstrued
Misunderstood,
Mistaken?
I was living, green, verdant
I base my assumptions off
Roots grown deep
In fertile soil
Before the axe struck me down.
Was it fate?
Was my beauty so captivating
I was wanted for tables and chairs
Practicality
Instead of leafy, poetic repose?
Could they not have found rest
Beneath my dancing bows?
Or was it lightening
Striking its mark that splintered me —
A crash no one heard or cared to discern
In the distance
As I careened toward hard dirt,
Arid, hungry for the rain,
Gobbling it down as I
Slammed,
Cheek-to-cheek
With the dust from whence I came?
Either way —
I do not remember.
I have floated, adrift,
For eons and days and years —
The darkness of night
And blinding of noonday
Erasing my memory
Of the cool groves
And shadowed lands
I once inhabited.
And now, here —
I have come to rest
With other survivors:
Douglas-fir, white birch, and red-cedar,
Stripped,
Surround my carcass.
Perhaps I am not alone
In my pain.
Yet, I lie in solitude.
Destitute.
Embittered and forsaken.
We are all alone,
Separate.
And then, there she is —
A girl, a woman, a faerie sprite —
Camera in tow,
Gait easy and gaze focused;
Has she seen me lying here?
She arrives, comes closer,
Gushing
A torrent of emotion
A wildness in her heart beating fast
As she declares me beautiful —
A miracle,
A fascination,
A work of art:
A love affair
Begins.
She edges closer,
Dancing fingertips over
These sun-dried bones,
This desert stranded on Pacific-Northwest beach;
She shrieks in pleasure,
Finding peace and comfort
In my myriad scars.
Do they not echo her own?
Her eyes draw tears
At my silent suffering;
There is a pause —
A moment of silence,
Hallowed.
She is praying.
She is praising.
She sees Elohim in me.
She perceives glory in the
Ghost of me
And I realize —
Perhaps my story
Continues
Extends
Begins again
Through the eyes of wonder
Through the speechless awe
Of witness:
She sees me
As I see her.
I once was,
I survived
And am
Reborn —
As is she.
As are we.
Into The Deep 