I loved the trees,
I didn’t learn their names
but muddled them
into one gorgeous lanky family;
I loved their cool, slim hips
their sudden splits
their tender dark
their never ending want for sky;
I loved their interlaced attentiveness
their flair for being still
or keeping time with any
off-beat breeze.
I loved the trees because
they had redemption down,
oh God be glorified, I loved the trees!
The way they ate their old regrets
and made them into leaves.
Kathryn Simmonds is the author of two collections, Sunday at the Skin Launderette and The Visitations, both published by Seren
Content from our partners
Start the new year with a New Statesman subscription from only £8.99 per month.
Related
This article appears in the 11 Oct 2017 issue of the New Statesman, How May crumbled