I’d be a tall oak
branches reaching
to ensnare
the clouds.
My tap roots grow deep,
knocking on
the door
to the deep earth.
The warming sun,
moving north,
drives my sap,
leaves unfurling,
bright green,
flutter and rustle,
a conversation
on the spring breeze.
Catkins blossom,
Eggs waiting
for the sperm cloud
carried on the wind
around my mighty trunk.
My spreading branches,
a leafy umbrella,
throw shade,
cooling the summer air below.
Green Acorns dangle,
From my limbs,
Ripening over many months.
Birds flit through my branches,
robins, warblers, and more
Serenading the world.
Bluebirds nest,
raising young and their song,
safe in cavities
provided by me.
Day and night
Evenly split.
My acorns drop
to be gathered,
by manic creatures,
stored in earthen cupboards,
food for the future.
A fair exchange for their labor,
forgotten ones left buried,
my children,
ready to sprout
in the spring.
Changing to my autumn attire,
leaves now brown
and dull yellow.
Soon, they drop and drift
in the cooling wind,
a carpet on the earth.
Winter’s snow falls,
I stand in grand repose,
through the arctic gale,
resting until spring,
when my blood
will flow again.
—
Branwen Rhiannon Drew is an award-winning artist and poet. She lives in Rome, NY, with her wife Sarah and three fur babies. Her writing and art are inspired by her location on the edge of the Mohawk River and the foothills of the Adirondacks. The journey towards revealing her true self is evident in her work. Branwen’s poetry can be found at https://branwendrew.substack.com. She is currently working on an illustrated collection of poems about birds. Her poetry has appeared in Spillwords, Raven’s Perch, Pearl Moon Quarterly, and other publications.
