my eyes walk the circles
of her curved bark bumps.
fibrous tree breasts nippled
where small branch babies
once suckled heartwood.
mother, sister strong survivor
long roots reach deep dirt
ringed torso reaches skyward
immoveable but her crown
lifted, blown, rinsed, dried.
winds brush and caress
green leaves and straw nests.
the wild hairdresser is tireless
flinging a red bow to the sky
where it opens wings and flies.
From Suzanne: Love, love this poem. Your best yet, says this sometimes sister poet. Go, girl!
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