these branches have thorns

that leave scars on my arms –

or wherever else i try to ascend

my body in reaching toward

a new way to forget

 

his seesaw on my spine

my reason for deciduous

susception to suicide

 

these branches bare no fruit

only occasional leaves –

each with veins that scalpel

a name or face from shade

 

some days i go between

wanting to chainsaw it all down

or hang alone from its branches

where no one would find me for days

 

i could even use it to build

a house and raise my

own family – only at dual price of being reminded

everyday of what happened to me

when time didn’t move so fast as it does now

 

if you took an ax to my mind

you’d find more than the twenty-

four rings on the inside

to account for all the years

a child could not comprehend

what this tree overcasts.