I start with trees, blowing in the wind.
No name, no face, just a calm breeze.
They came with their axes and loud machines.
One by one, my family fell by their hands.
Then me.
The harsh ground, shattered bark, rustling leaves.
Chopped up, up, up.
Half of me here, half of me there,
Wherever they needed me.
Soon, my divided self lay in a basket next to a fireplace.
It burned but I relished it.
My body blistered and charred with the rest of my faith.
I wish the silence was loud.
I wish it consumed me to the point where I couldn’t hear the crackling of my burnt body.
The still lit embers sinking down into the cracks of my shell,
Seeping further into my insecurities.
My hopes went up in flames just as my home did.
Burned up, up, up.
I no longer felt the sway of my leaves,
The tickle of the creatures making their homes.
The way my roots absorbed the water logged soil.
I no longer felt alive.
No longer smelling the sap of the grand trees around me.
I had given up.
No longer do I believe in the great forest my great elders mentioned before me.
My mind occupied with the isolating thought of drifting alone without those I love.
As the darkness bloomed around me, taking me further and further away,
I hoped.
I hoped and I hoped and I hoped
Until
I flew.
High up, up, up.
Through the clouds to the birds,
Through the families I’d never thought I’d meet.
I hummed with the breeze.
Instead of being rooted with the soil, forever facing north,
I flew through the trees, through them all.
Becoming my own compass.
Rustling their leaves, scaring their birds, carrying their scent.
I was home again.
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