'Tree' (a poem)
And now for something completely different.
I wrote this poem years ago when I was wrestling with depression and just generally unhappy in life. I still struggle with these things, even though I am much happier in general than I was when I spilled this ink. The pandemic has seen a spike in mental health issues all across the globe, and certainly some of these issues have struck close to home for many of us.
I know this is not normally a space for poetry, but I figure it can’t hurt. Who knows, maybe I’ll post some fiction here at some point as well. diabolical is mine to do with as I please, after all.
In any case, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading!
“Tree” by Erik Kain
I can feel it like some dragging tide
or a slope, the green mood sliding back,
slipping toward that thick black cancer,
that sense of decay.
Fallen autumn leaves
on a cold summer day.
Beneath my two feet, the colors seep
down into the wet dirt.
The pavement cracks,
weeds pushing it apart.
I can see the future of civilization
there in the dandelions.
My toes are roots
and I am a birch, swaying naked.
No wind today, nothing to bring the clouds
but the clouds came; gray slogs slogging
along across the firmament,
a high highway of sky, pavement.
Crows congregating
in the buttresses and pavilions
and dumpsters of the world.
I can see tombstones in the tall grass.
But I am a birch and I cannot cross
the lawn.