A Willow Tree and Life

A place description

The willow tree branches dramatically swayed from side to side; just tickling the sweet grass. I firmly rooted my back against the full trunk, as if to encourage the bark to wrap around me with the earthy memory of those summers. Carefully, I drew my hands behind my back. Placing them atop that coiled, protruding root. I felt that coarse bark bite into my palms; the swirling memories bite into my conscience.

The swelling of wind and branches, and the swirling butterflies with their brilliant flurries of color, and the way our laughter had adorned this little sanctuary encapsulated by these lovely swaying branches, was interrupted by a greedy slip of paper that whisked you away for a “better cause”. For even the dead need protection when desperation infiltrates. The willow waited, I waited. The willow grew, I grew. When you finally returned, I became the naive bystander who tried to use this weeping willow tree to tease hope back into your eyes after the chilling winds had robbed you of all warmth.

Time passed. With no hope to root you to the willow tree, to me, you left. Laughter no longer soared up the willow with the vibrant butterflies. The willow tree never minded tears that never fell, or unforgiving winds. The breach of wood from the Earth simply continued to be. Continued the balance of rise and fall as the tree pursued the skies, and the branches, the Earth. I trusted that this entity of life would remind you, rekindle you. I was a foolish girl then. I am a foolish girl now.

I removed my imprinted palms off the root and turned to face this biotic thing that had

been so generous, so promising, and felt sullen that I must purloin one last thing. Delicately, my fingers laced over the root; covering the intricate engraving of hallow promises. A discarded knife that bore a singular life resided in my pocket.  It was this singular life that drained the hope from your eyes. I shoved it under the innocent engraving, and with the flick of a wrist, lifted our memories away. The  lovely, swaying branches of the willow shuddered with the chilling winds of life.

Author's Note

This is an alternate ending if you will, to my other piece "The Final Movement".

Reviews

[SquinklaPsyOps]

Fabulous, emotive, original poetry with that special sense of delight and style. This is truly my favorite kind of poetic writing. It tickles, it elates, it imagines itself into reality.