The Hawthorn Speaks

By Mary Buchinger

Posted on

Of course   I’ve    noticed
how  you’re   drawn     to
what    you    call         my
wounds            symmetry
doesn’t beckon the    eye 
no—       disruption       &
disorder  a lopsidedness
reminding  you  you  are
dreaming   the   rest    of
your     life     asleep     in

expectation   until         a
patch    of   bark    shows
you a           swirl       &  a
swelling   about a      gap       
that       once              was
wholeness                   my
surface  wavy  like     old     
glass          the           slow
assemblage     of      cells 
moving in   to  cover    & 
protect  rippling  up  the
roughened  river      new
growth      a     whirlpool
whose  center    narrows
by season    &     I  know

you     want         nothing 
more  than to stick your
hand    into    this    soft-
edged  opening  to    feel  
reparation     what     we
trees  are     go      ahead 
touch  me    &     awaken  
to doubt

– Mary Buchinger