Wednesday, March 18, 2020

Michael Brownstein writes


This morning
a tree bloomed in the yard,
it's branches full of ornamental eggs,
ancient grass,
volcanic ash and fresh fruit;
It's leaves tamarack,
paper birch,
oak and maple,
thick red leaves from the flamboyant tree;
it's crown jaybirds,
robins and cardinals,
flying squirrels and albino squirrels,
possum and woodpecker,
a great nest of eagles;
and at the bottom of the trunk,
a small window I easily slipped through.
Suddenly I was on a Savannah surrounded by grand lakes,
lions walking with elk,
hyenas frolicking with antelope,
pythons play wrestling with giraffes,
dingos and monkeys,
elephants and mice.
I explored for hours, but when I crawled back through the window,
only five minutes had passed.
I walked around the tree, a breeze of song,
a flutter of tolerance and wishes,
but when I came to the spot where the window had been,
new bark formed smooth as onyx and butternut squash.
I touched it with my hand and tingled with wonderment,
touched it again only to find a growth of petrified wood.

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