I Wonder

Poetry

Have you ever stopped dead in your tracks
long enough to truly ponder a tree in winter?

Her nakedness exposes a tangled mess.
Gawking scars and stumps
have no place to hide.
Only a few brown dried leaves cling to her
gnarled broken arms and fingers.

Summer gave her luxurious soft edges.
Beneath her lovely rounded shape
we found welcome respite.
But now the twisted, bending, broken,
branches make no sense.

And still I see no sign of shame or shrinking.
She stands just as proudly as in the months not long past
when she wore her summer charm.

Could she be whispering some secrets
About the dignity of aging and death.

I wonder….

Kathy Boyce