Birches
"Half grant my wish."
She bends and she breaks as he leaves
for new forests.
And he always leaves her as a birch tree,
bending forward and backward for him.
He molds her and shapes her to his liking--
whether she be broken in half,
or almost to that point.
I observe and I don't know why she clings to him.
His facade of beauty
which only leaves her in disappointment.
Her fake smiles only half grant my wish,
which is, for her,
content peace
in a broken world.
Or in her case,
a shattered world.
Small buds of pink flowers
appear at the tips of her branches,
and if you broke her branch,
it would reveal stiff, green flesh.
That is, until he leaves.
Then the buds shrivel to dark knots,
and her flesh grows brown and dead.
For her,
life is short.
He will always be winter
when she wishes for summer.
A field of wishes
and a forest of pine trees,
but not birches,
for that would only remind her
of herself.
By: Brandi Deacon
2009
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.